


Stealing a Consulting Detective's Heart

by TenToo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Implied Mystrade, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 28,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenToo/pseuds/TenToo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A terrified Molly Hooper has turned to Sherlock Holmes in light of Moriarty's return. Will they finally admit their feelings for each other or will they regress into what they were before Sherlock returned from "death?" Sherlock may finally surprise Molly, this time with something good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Late Night Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly wakes with a nightmare the night that Moriarty's face appeared on TV. She goes to Sherlock's for comfort. Will the famed consulting detective ease her pain?

“Did you miss me?” “Did you miss me?” “Did you miss me?” “Did you miss me?” “Did you miss me?” “Did you miss me?” “Did you miss me?” “Did you miss me?” “Did you miss me?” “Did you miss me?” “Did you miss me?” “Did you miss me?” 

  


* * *

  


Molly Hooper woke with a start and stared at the off-white ceiling. She was in a cold sweat — Moriarty was back. The horrible, vile man who forced Sherlock to fake his death. He had shot himself through the head. How was he alive?  
  
She slipped out of bed and dressed quickly. She checked her hair on the way out and caught a cab.  
  
“Where to, ma’am?” The cabbie asked.  
  
“221B Baker Street, please.”  
  
“Right away, ma’am.”  
  
It was a short cab ride to Sherlock’s home and she was let in by a very sleepy Mrs. Hudson.  
  
“Pardon the hour, Mrs. Hudson, but I need to talk to Sherlock.” She said quickly, the words rushing out of her mouth.  
  
“Of course, dear.” She said, motioning for her to go upstairs. “He’s only just returned from his meeting with Mycroft, the poor dear. He may be in bed already.”  
  
The thought of Sherlock Holmes asleep was very appealing to Molly but she shook the thought out of her head, thanked Mrs. Hudson, and marched up the stairs to Sherlock’s flat.  
  
She didn’t bother with knocking and walked right in. He was standing in the sitting room, lightly plucking the strings of his violin as he bent over a sheet of music on the stand. She cleared her throat and he turned around. The look of surprise was evident on his face. He set down the instrument and walked halfway toward her then stopped for some reason.  
  
“Molly, what brings you to Baker Street at this time of night?” He asked, crossing his arms behind his back.  
  
She thought it over in her head but every reason that she came up with seemed too stupid to say to the great Sherlock Holmes. She replied, “I was scared.”  
  
Sherlock’s face went blank. He had no response. He stood there awkwardly and yelled, “Mrs. Hudson, put the kettle on!”

  


* * *

  


Ten minutes later, Mrs. Hudson walked up in her nightgown bearing a tray with two cups of tea and a teapot. She set them down and whispered to Molly as Sherlock slumped down in his chair, “Kindly restrain him from calling me again.” Molly nodded as the landlady left.  
  
Sherlock leaned forward and picked up a cup of tea, he held it out for Molly, who took it, refraining from touching his hand. He picked up his own cup and drank half of it in one gulp. He said, “Now, Molly, what frightens you?”  
  
“Jim Moriarty.”  
  
Sherlock just nodded. “Yes, he frightens all. The entire nation, to be precise. But, you don’t see all of England turning up on my doorstep with tales of their nightmares. So, kindly let me know your troubles so I can feign listening and you can feel relieved that someone has shared in your horrors and leave so I can have a peaceful night of sleep.” He gave her the most fake smile ever, one he reserved for clients he wished to leave. It was all teeth, no lips, and it certainly did not reach his eyes.  
  
Molly wanted to slap him, a good, proper slap that would leave a mark. Her hand was itching to do it but she stopped herself. “How dare you make fun of me. I came here, hoping to find a friend, a friend who is directly related to the thing that frightens me the most, who would help me in forgetting this nightmare of a person so I could sleep too, but all this friend seems to care about it going to bed! I wish I could fall asleep! But every time I shut my eyes, I see Jim Moriarty’s face grinning at me and muttering, ‘Did you miss me?’ Do you have any idea how that feels? I dated him, for Christ’s sake! Do you ever stop to thing about other people’s feelings, Sherlock? You are the most selfish person on earth, I don’t even know why I bothered to come.”  
  
She rose to leave and was halfway down the stairs before he managed to catch her hand and pull her back. He didn’t say a word as he led her back into the sitting room. He turned to face her and she could see the faintest tear in the corner of his eye. Sherlock Holmes crying? What a strange occurrence. She took a hesitant step toward him and reached up toward his face. Her hand landed lightly on his cheek and she wiped the tear from his eye with her thumb. She was about to pulled her hand back but he caught it with his own and returned it to his cheek. His hand rested on top of hers as he shut his eyes.  
  
He whispered so quiet that she had to lean in to hear him. “I do understand how you feel, Molly. Please, I don’t want you to leave. I’m certainly glad that you came.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Stay, Molly Hooper, for me.”  
  
How could she say “no” to that?


	2. Feelings Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally admits his feelings for Molly, that he is "fond" of her. He tells her why he really came back to London.

They sat in silence for a good while, Sherlock in his chair and Molly in the one across. Sherlock’s long fingers tapped on the arm of the chair in a steady rhythm. _Da-da-dum-dum. Da-da-dum-dum._ Molly stared at those fingers, wondering what else they could do. Her eyes widened as she was shocked she had thought such a thing. That movement didn’t go unnoticed by her companion.  
  
“What’s on your mind, Molly Hooper?”  
  
She would never tell him exactly what she was thinking, it was vulgar and embarrassing. She could feel a blush creeping on her cheeks and wanted to hide her face.  
  
“I can read how you feel, Molly. It’s quite obvious.” Sherlock said, quietly. He now leaned forward, elbows on the rests, and chin resting on hands. He looked at her intently but she didn’t shrink away. It was a look Sherlock gave people often when he needed them to listen to him. She was used to it and it barely registered to her anymore. Although, this time, it was different. It was like he would be in pain if she didn’t hear him. He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. He shut it and a confused expressing set upon his face. He averted his eyes for a second before focusing on her again. He cleared his throat and said, “Molly, I’ve never really done this before. Well. Not for real…Um. You are the person I care for the most. You matter the most; I’ve said it before but I don’t think you understood fully by what I meant by it.” He paused and cleared his throat again. “I am…fond…of you.” He gave her a look like he was unsure if he had said it right but he nodded once, satisfied with it.  
  
It was almost like he had said that he loved her. She just stared at him and, honestly, didn’t know what to say. She did however speak, finally. “You’re fond of me?”  
  
He nodded and spoke slowly, “Yes. I thought I made that quite clear. I am fond of you, Molly Hooper, I always have been.”  
“Then why wait until now to tell me?”  
  
“I was gone for two years, if you remember. You moved on of course…”  
  
She cut him off. “Oh, I moved on? I have made it very clear from the start how I have felt about you Sherlock, you have chosen to ignore it all of this time. And then you faked your death and left me. Of course I moved on. Just because things didn’t work out between Tom and I, doesn’t mean that you get any right to mock me for it!”  
  
Molly rose to leave but Sherlock was faster than her. He had his long fingers around her wrists in a matter of seconds, his body inches from hers as he whispered in her ear, “I didn’t want to leave you, Molly, it was a matter of nation and global security, though in light of recent events, it didn’t seem to matter since the leader of the organization I attempted to thwart has returned from the grave.” He leaned back and looked her in the eye, his blue-green eyes looking sadder than she ever wanted to see them. “I didn’t come back for London really, no. Not for Mycroft. Not for my parents. Not John nor Graham.”  
“Greg.” She corrected.  
  
“Not for Greg. Not even the bloody Queen. I came back for you.”  
  
His thumb ran over the back of her hand and she found herself a little choked up. She knew that if she tried to speak, she may sob for joy, so she did the only logical thing she could think of. She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips firmly to his. Sherlock was a little taken aback but embraced it after a few seconds. His hands tightened in hers and he found himself kissing her back. Her lips parted for him but when his tongue didn’t slide in, she took the initiative. Her tongue met his and a soft moan escaped from Sherlock. Molly couldn’t help but wonder if this was his first real kiss. Those ones with Janine certainly didn’t count, he hadn’t been emotionally involved in them. This, this was different. Sherlock felt something for Molly, he wasn’t sure how much he felt for her but he knew that that would be very clear soon.  
  
Molly’s hand had escaped his and disappeared into his curls. He was very particular about them and the fact that he let her touch them was a good sign of trust with him. She broke their kiss and said, “I’m glad I came here tonight. Thank you for helping me.”  
  
Sherlock smiled and said, “There’s nothing to fear. I won’t let anything happen to you, ever.”  
  
He claimed her lips again as he backed them toward his bedroom.


	3. Sherlock Experiences Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex. Sex. Sex.

Molly fell on the bed and pushed herself up toward the pillows. Sherlock crawled on top of her, making her feel so vulnerable, yet she welcomed it. It was Sherlock. Her Sherlock. He was offering her something that he didn’t offer many people; a glimpse into his carnal needs. He lowered himself onto her gently and his lips pressed against hers passionately.  
  
He took his time kissing her, sliding his tongue into her mouth when his lips had had their fill of caressing every inch of her lips. His tongue explored her mouth as his hands roamed her body. He slid her shirt of quickly and she did the same with his, unbuttoning it with skill. Their clothes slowly formed a pile to the side of the bed until they were fully naked and Sherlock continued to explore her body with his hands as his mouth and tongue still needed more time with her mouth and tongue. His hands caressed her breasts and hers tangled in his hair as she moaned into his mouth. Her legs wrapped around his waist, trying to get closer to him. She could feel his hard length pressing against her leg but she knew that they were no where near that step yet; Sherlock wanted to fully kiss and touch every inch of her before he slid inside of her.  
  
Sherlock’s tongue left Molly’s mouth and he began to kiss his way down her body: making his way down her neck to her chest; across her breasts; spending a lengthy amount of time on each nipple, sucking and biting and bruising here and there. Molly moaned and pulled on his curls, drawing a moan in turn from the famed detective. He leaned up and kissed her sloppily before returning to his ministrations. His hands roamed over her slim waist down to her thighs as his lips left her breasts and continued down her body, following the trail his hands had just made. They parted the path and went straight instead of veering either way to the thighs. He kissed her mound and she let out a gasp. He smiled up at her and spread her legs apart with his hands. He settled down between her thighs, placing them on his shoulders and circling his arms around them. He kept his eyes on her as he ran his tongue over her clit for the first time. Her hand flung to his hair and held on as he got comfortable and began to lick her with enthusiasm. He eventually moved south and slid his tongue inside, repeating the action until she was moaning every few seconds, yanking on his hair and panting his name. He returned his tongue to her clit much to her dismay but slid three fingers right into her pussy and began to pump them in a quick rhythm, making her moan his name. He could feel her start to clench up inside and smiled against her pussy as he continued to lick her vigorously. When she screamed his name, he felt her clench hard against his fingers before she released her juices. He pulled his fingers and sucked the juice off before sliding himself up her body. Before she could protest, he positioned his cock against her entrance and slid himself in.  
  
Molly moaned and grabbed onto his strong shoulders, wrapping her legs around her waist as he gripped her hips. He began to pound into her, his lips claiming hers like they had many times before that night. He would never tire of kissing those lips. There was something about her that was just so Molly that he felt intoxicated by her, he couldn’t get enough; he was addicted and he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t need his cocaine anymore, not when he was with her. She could be his new drug.  
  
Sherlock loved hearing her moan his name, he found himself speeding up to hear her say it more. She smiled at that and kissed his earlobe, whispering, “Slower, Sherlock, we have all night.”  
  
Sherlock shook his head and flipped her over onto her hands and knees. He leaned over her back, grabbing her ponytail, forcing her hair back, and whispering in her ear, “We’ll go at my speed.”  
  
He was taking charge and she didn’t mind one bit. It was the sexiest thing he had ever done. Aside from wearing that purple shirt, solving crimes that no one else could, sitting near her in the lab in utter silence without moving a muscle…really, everything he did was sexy. But this, this was something else. He was dominating her. It was new and she found it very, very enticing.  
  
Sherlock slammed into her again and began to pound at his own speed: fast. Ridiculously fast. His grip on her hips was that of death. She was panting and moaning and gripping the headboard for dear life. His name was on her lips as she came for the second time. Sherlock was on the verge of his own undoing and he was moaning loudly, bruising her hips with his grasp. He would have time to feel bad about that later. He rammed his body into her several times more before he collapsed onto her back, emptying himself into her.  
  
He kissed her back lightly, tasting the saltiness of sweat and something that was entirely Molly. He pulled out of her and they rolled over next to each other on the bed. Molly’s hand slid into Sherlock’s and their fingers entwined. She looked at him and turned to face him on the bed. They didn’t need to speak, they would have plenty of time for that later. Sherlock opened his arms for her. Molly slid over and cuddled against his chest, placing her palm on his abdomen. Sherlock’s arms wrapped tightly around her body after pulling the comforter around them. Her head was in the crook of his neck. He rested his head on top of hers after kissing the top of hers softly. Slowly, the two of them drifted off to sleep, feeling safe for the first time in a long time.


	4. Mycroft Fails To Deduce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft stops by for a little chat with Sherlock and is surprised to find Molly Hooper there in the same clothes she wore the previous day and coming out of Sherlock's bedroom early in the morning.

Molly woke the following morning to the smell of freshly made tea, eggs, sausage, and toast. She slid out of the otherwise empty bed and dressed in what she had worn the previous day. She exited Sherlock’s bedroom and found Sherlock at the table, seated across from Mycroft. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of the older Holmes brother but he didn’t even look at her. She thought it safe to approach. She sat down and helped herself to some of the food on the table. Sherlock gave her a small smile before he returned to listening to Mycroft talk about the return of Moriarty.  
  
“Lady Smallwood believes that you are the only one who can defeat Moriarty.” Mycroft said, picking at a sausage.  
  
Molly ate in silence as Sherlock responded, “And what do you think, brother dear?”  
  
“I’m certain there are others but it would take too long to track them down. We’ll have to settle with you.” Mycroft replied, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands. He rested his chin on the top of his hands as he studied his brother over them. The love bites that lined his neck were obvious as was the light bruise forming near his collarbone. His lips were still puffy from a night of passionate kissing. And he looked too happy.  
  
“Well I’m glad that someone has confidence in me.” Sherlock said, giving his brother a sarcastic smile before returning to his breakfast. He focused on Molly and asked, “Sleep well?”  
  
“Very. You?”  
  
“Same.”  
  
Mycroft studied their exchange and scoffed, earning a look from each of them.  
  
“Problem, Mycy?”  
  
Mycroft ignored his brother’s blatant use of their mother’s favorite nickname for him and said, “What is this?”  
  
Sherlock raised his eyebrow, “What is what? This is breakfast. Mrs. Hudson was lovely enough to make us this. You should do more to be nice to her, Myc.”  
  
“Enough about the maid, Sherlock.” His brother opened his mouth to chastise Mycroft but the elder brother continued, “You and Ms. Hooper. What is going on? She came out of your bedroom.”  
  
“Oh, Mycroft. I thought you would be able to deduce this. I’ve found myself a…goldfish.”  
  
Mycroft closed his eyes in disbelief and mumbled something about never imagining his brother ever being with someone.  
  
“I suggest you find a goldfish of your own.” Sherlock continued. “They’re quite enjoyable.”  
  
“I can tell from your marks, Sherlock. You should do well to cover them up before people start to talk.” Mycroft said, rising to leave.  
  
“Going so soon, brother mine?” Sherlock asked, pleased to see his brother tucking in the chair and grabbing his umbrella.  
  
“I have matters to discuss with those much more important than you. I’ll be in touch.” He made to leave but turned back around. “Just one more thing, brother mine, do well and remember, caring is not an advantage.” The elder Holmes brother said, letting his gaze drift over Molly before he turned on his heel and departed 221B.  
  
Molly looked down at her plate of relatively untouched food, fighting the tears. For some reason, Mycroft always rubbed her the wrong way and he seemed to truly dislike her. He didn’t want his brother to be with her and even though Sherlock said that he never listened to his brother, she knew that he valued his opinions. A hand on her chin made her look at him. Sherlock ran his long thumb over her jaw.  
  
“What are you thinking, Molly?”  
  
She looked anywhere but him. “Mycroft hates me.”  
  
“More of dislike, rather than hate. Mycroft is a cold individual, he places value in business and solitude. Friendship and relationships are beneath him. He finds them weaknesses. He’s weak, Molly. Pay him no mind.”  
  
That made her feel a little better and the smile he gave her improved her mood drastically.  
  
Molly and Sherlock ate their breakfast and sipped coffee while talking about the news, everything except Moriarty’s return. She rose and he looked disappointed. She leaned down and kissed him tenderly. “I have to go to work.”  
  
“But it’s barely 7:30.” He said, bitterly.  
  
“I have to stop off at my apartment first, Sherlock.” She said, smiling at him. “I can’t go in in the same clothes I wore yesterday.”  
  
He nodded and said, “Of course. Would you like to go to lunch? Perhaps that fish shop off Marylebone Road? The one that give me extra portions?”  
  
Molly smiled. “It’s a date.”


	5. Not a Typical Day at Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content. Rape. Don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with that. 
> 
> Molly goes to work at St. Bart's and a stranger comes into the morgue. He was sent by Moriarty to kill her. Things don't exactly go as planned.

Molly walked into the morgue and got right to work. Two bodies to be autopsied. It took up the better part of her morning and she didn’t make it to the lab until near lunchtime. She sat down at her microscope and got to work analyzing some slides for the hospital. It had been a busy day in the emergency room and their main lab had been backed up for hours upon hours. Her boss had dropped the slides off for her to help out. It had been a long time since she had analyzed a cancerous slide of a living patient who would receive the news shortly. 

She looked away from the slide, trying not to get emotional. She sucked it up and pulled the slide out and put in a new one. This is why she worked with the dead, it didn’t matter if they had cancer — they were already dead, it couldn’t kill them now. She had to take a deep breath before examining the next one, thankful it was just gonorrhea. 

Molly continued examining slides until the door opened. She looked up, expecting Sherlock but her eyes were met with a complete stranger. He was tall with blond hair that was tucked under a plain black ski cap. He was clad in a leather jacket and dark red shirt, black jeans, and black shoes. His eyes were very dark, almost black in color. He walked toward her without uttering a word. 

Molly stuttered, “C-c-can I he-help you?” 

He continued in his silence but he flicked out a knife from his pocket as he approached. Molly’s eyes widened as all of her muscles tensed and she froze. 

Finally, he spoke. “Molly Hooper, Jim from IT sends his regards.” 

He lunged for her, thrusting his knife at her. Molly’s body reacted on instinct. She dodged him and opened the drawer closest to her. She pulled out one of the things in it; a scalpel. The man recovered from his failed attempt and made another. Molly attempted her own blow but his knife collided with her scalpel, knocking it out of her hand. She grabbed another from the drawer and managed to slice his arm. He growled in pain and grabbed her arm, pulling her against him. His hand circled her throat and next thing she knew they were both on the ground, he was on top of her, his knife pressed against her throat. 

“Anything to say to Moriarty? He truly misses you. He said you were a good _fuck_.” 

Molly closed her eyes in shame and tightened her grip around the scalpel. He had her hand pinned down, she couldn’t move it at all. 

The man leaned down and ran his hand down her body. “Mmmm…You know, I could fuck you right now. See if Moriarty was lying or not. You know, I think I will.” 

He yanked up her skirt and undid his pants. He tore her underwear off and tossed it aside. He pulled himself out of his pants and pressed the knife farther against her neck. “Don’t make a sound.” He roughly shoved into her but it didn’t last long. He had let go of her arms and she plunged the scalpel deep into his neck. He let out a loud scream and she shoved him off of her. She scrambled away into the corner, sitting with her knees against her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them. 

“Molly!” She jumped and saw Sherlock running to her at a speed she didn’t think possible. He placed his hands on her shoulders but she flinched away. She was shaking, the scalpel in her hand. She was clutching it so hard it was cutting into her palm. Sherlock grabbed her hand and pried it open, her fingers providing quite the fight. Once it was free from her flesh, he tossed it aside and examined her palm. The cut wasn’t as deep as he thought it had been. He went to the cabinet and got bandages. He worked in silence and soon her hand was bandaged up. Sherlock asked, “What happened, Molly?” 

He glanced at the body several feet away, the blood pooling around the neck. He could see where the scalpel had gone in at the carotid artery. He had died quickly. Pity. What Sherlock would have done to the man would have been slow and torturous. “We have to go.” He grabbed her hand but she said, “Don’t touch me!” She yanked her hand out of his. Sherlock took a step back, looking from her to the body, deducing what had happened. He shook his head, the rage boiling inside of him. He whipped out his phone and dialed a number. 

“Lestrade. Come to the lab. We have a situation. Dead body. And I need help with Molly;” he spoke quietly into the phone so she couldn't hear him, “The man raped her.”


	6. No One Asks Molly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is examined and her safety is discussed.

Sherlock stood a good distance from Molly as he waited for the others to arrive. She remained sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs, staring off into space. Finally, reinforcements arrived. First it was Lestrade and Donovan. Less than a minute later came Mary and John. All four gaped at the body. The pool of blood was rather large now, hitting both of the two lab benches it was between. John bent down to examine the body, grabbing a pair of gloves as he did. Mary and Sally Donovan walked toward Molly. She didn’t cringe away from them as she had with Sherlock. They pulled her up and took her out of the room, Mary grabbed John’s hand on their way out, effectively leaving Lestrade and Sherlock alone with the body. 

“Do you know what happened, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, crouching down and examining the body. 

Sherlock shook his head. “Not really. I came in after the ordeal. He was already dead, sadly.” 

Lestrade looked up at him. “What do you mean ‘sadly?’” 

“I certainly wouldn’t have killed him so quickly.”

Lestrade looked away, back to the body. “You would have made him suffer?” 

“Obviously.”

Lestrade just nodded. “After what he did to our Molly, I think we all would.”

Our Molly. Lestrade had said, Our Molly. No, she’s mine, Sherlock thought. He made sure none of his rage showed on his face as he crouched down next to Lestrade. He motioned along the slice in the man’s neck with two gloved fingers. “Obvious quick jab to the jugular. One time hit. He died very quickly — bled out in minutes.” 

“Molly did quite a number on him.” Lestrade commented, smiling.

“She didn’t do it by choice.” Sherlock said, defensively.

“I know that.” Lestrade said, standing. A hush fell over the two men, Sherlock continued to examine the body while Lestrade looked on. Sherlock did this for another few minutes before standing and looking at Lestrade. 

“I’m done here. Where’s Molly?” Sherlock asked, removing his gloves.

“John’s examining her. Sally’s getting her statement.” 

“Can we go join them?” 

“No.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow. “Why not?”

Lestrade raised his hands defensively. “We have to wait for someone to take the body to the morgue.”

“Why is John examining her? Isn’t she frightened of him as she was of me?”

“I’m sure Mary and Sally will have calmed her down first.”

They didn’t have long to wait. The body was removed and the blood cleaned up. Lestrade and Sherlock joined Sergeant Donovan outside of the room where Molly was. They sat down with her and waited. 

“She gave her statement. She had every right to kill that man.” Donovan said in conversation. 

“Does she know who sent him?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock scoffed. “Moriarty, of course. Who else could it be?”

“It was Moriarty. The murderer was very clear about that.” Donovan said. “One thing’s certain, boys, she can’t be alone. There’s been one attempt on her life, there will be more.”

“What are you suggesting?” Lestrade asked. 

“That she moves in with one of you lot.”

“It does seem fair. She shouldn’t be alone, not when there are trained assassins after her.”

Sherlock just nodded as the door opened and out came Mary, John, Molly, and… “Mycroft.”

“Brother mine.”

“What brings you here?”

“A situation regarding Moriarty and you hadn’t thought to ring me at once? My, brother, you are slipping. Luckily, Dr. Watson had brains enough.”

“I didn’t see you go in…” Donovan said. 

“More than one entrance, dear Sergeant.” Mycroft said, leaning on his umbrella. “Now, Ms. Hooper has told me her story and we cannot have her on her own. She’ll have to move in with one of you until the danger has passed.”

“Just as I said.”

“Great minds think alike, Sergeant.” Mycroft said, smiling smugly. He really didn’t care for Donovan, that much was obvious. He was just humoring her. “Now, who gets the lucky task of taking care of our lovely Ms. Hooper here?”

“She can move in with Mary and I.” John said, looking at Mary, who nodded eagerly.

“And what, sleep on the couch?” Mycroft scoffed. “Tut, tut. Surely we can do better than that. Isn’t she a dear friend?”

Lestrade said, “I’ve got a spare. Who’s better to protect her than a Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You can barely take care of yourself, Graham. I’ve got a spare bedroom as well. Molly will stay with me.” He looked at her, the first person to actually acknowledge she was in the room with them. “If that’s alright with you.” She nodded, looking at the ground. 

“It’s settled then.” Mycroft said, nodding. He looked at Molly and continued, “Let us go fetch your things from your flat.”


	7. Life at 221B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly settles in to living at 221B Baker Street. She avoids Sherlock for several days, still recovering from the trauma she experienced. When she finally lets him in, they are interrupted.

Sherlock walked through the front door of 221B Baker Street and was greeted with soft piano music. It trickled down from two floors above — Molly’s room. She loved listening to Bach or Mozart, sometimes Tchaikovsky. He could smell the sweet lavender from his spot in the entryway. He headed up the stairs, his foot hitting the one step that made noise. Normally he avoided it but Lestrade had him on a case that truly baffled him. A man, in seemingly perfect health with no wounds of any kind, was found dead on the railway track. 

The door upstairs cracked open as the music stopped abruptly. He halted on the steps in a spot where he could perfectly see up the stairs to Molly’s door. She was standing there in a long gray T-shirt and very small shorts; she didn’t think that he could see her as the stairs were so tight they normally blocked the view to her door. He pretended he couldn’t see her or even notice she had come out of her room. 

She had locked herself in there for days, only allowing Mary in and occasionally John — though Sherlock and John normally remained in his flat, trying to talk about anything other than their current hell. He knew she needed her space to come back from what had happened to her. Mary seemed to be helping and Sherlock knew that he was the last person Molly would want to talk about it with, seeing as how Sherlock was the last person she had been with intimately before her rapist had done what he did. He was walking into his flat when he heard feet on the stairs and knew that Molly would be joining him for dinner.   
Mrs. Hudson had laid out Shepard’s Pie for the two; she seemed to know that Molly would be making an appearance. Sherlock popped into the bathroom to freshen up before he returned to the kitchen. Molly was seated at the table, meekly picking at her Shepard’s Pie. She looked up when he walked over to the table, but didn’t say anything. 

“Good afternoon, Molly.” Sherlock said, softly. He sat down opposite her and hoped that she would finally open up to him. Fork in hand, he slowly ate his food, waiting and waiting for Molly to say something but, alas, she didn’t say a thing. After she finished eating, she padded back up to her bedroom, shutting the door softly. 

Sherlock sighed and went to his desk near the window, getting to work. He began to look up train schedules and track diameters, basically everything he could about his case. He then phoned Lestrade but there was no new news. Sherlock set his phone down and shut his eyes, pressing his thumbs into them. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head sharply, eyes flashing open. Molly stood there, dressed in the same sleep clothes. She kept her hand on his shoulder and place her other on his face. Without a word, she leaned in and pressed her lips against his. He held still for fear of scaring her away. She pulled away from him and said in a small voice, “Will you sit with me and watch telly?”

He took her hand and stood. “Of course, Molly.”

There was no television in the living room so they went up to Molly’s bedroom. She climbed onto the bed and pulled him on behind her. Sherlock sat against the headboard and Molly curled against his side and turned on the television. A rerun of Doctor Who was on and Molly found herself smiling, she had always loved Doctor Who. She placed her head on his chest as she wrapped her arm under him, around his back, and set her other hand on his belly. His arm wound tightly around her shoulders, keeping her close. 

As the program ran on, her leg crept up onto his. A smile played at Sherlock’s lips. By the end of the show, her leg was completely over his. He whispered in her ear, “Do you not fear I’ll hurt you?”

Molly pushed herself off of him and looked him in the eyes. She shook her head. “No. Mary has been helping me. She says that the man who did…” She audibly gulped, “what he did, did so because he was sick. He wanted to kill me. You would never do that to me, Sherlock. I trust you.”

He cupped her face suddenly and kissed her gently. She was always surprised by how kind he could be — someone who could twist words into the harshest of phrases for others could be so tender and loving with her. Sure, he had said some horrible things to her in the past but he was making up for it all now. 

Sherlock’s mobile went off — Stayin’ Alive. Molly jumped off of Sherlock, their eyes meeting instantly. She said, “That’s not your ringtone.” 

He shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen, Blocked Caller. Molly’s hand was tight on his upper arm as he tapped the ‘Answer’ button and raised the phone to his ear. 

The chillingly deep voice of Jim Moriarty greeted Sherlock, “Sherlock. Did you miss me?”

“Not in particular, James. What can I do for you?” Sherlock replied, coldly.

“You can put Ms. Hooper on the phone and tell her to lighten the grip on your arm if you wish to have full use of it in the future.” That sent a chill through Sherlock’s spine. Molly felt his shiver and looked concerned. 

“What’s wrong?” she mouthed. 

“It’s for you.” He held out the phone for her; in the exchange, he whispered in her ear, “He’s watching us.”

She held the phone to her ear with trembling fingers and waited. Then came that voice that had sent her running to Sherlock in the first place. “Hello, Molly. I’ve certainly missed you. I see that you’ve replaced me easily though. I doubt Sherlock is as tender a lover as I.”

“What do you want, Jim?” She asked, trying to be strong, but her voice cracked. She could almost hear his smirk. 

“I thought that much was obvious, Molly. I want you dead. I want to take everything that Sherlock loves away from him. He’s destroyed almost everything I’ve done. Now, it’s time to destroy everything he loves and holds dear. You tell Sherlock that he should visit his doctor before it’s too late.” The line went dead.

Molly dropped the phone on the bed and hopped onto the floor. Sherlock stood up and watched her frantically get dressed, worry etched on every inch of his face. As she was pulling on pants, she finally managed to get out, “He’s going after John.”


	8. He Could Have Stopped It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a race to save John's life.

Mary was jolted awake by the sound of pounding on the front door. She pulled a dressing gown on and rushed to it, checking the time. 11:30pm. Her pregnancy made her very tired and she normally went to bed early. She could see two figures through the glass door but she couldn’t make out who they were. The knocking continued frantically as she shuffled along toward it and jerked it open. Sherlock and Molly stood there.

“What’s wrong?”

“Where’s John? He’s in danger.” Sherlock said, seemingly out of breath.

“He’s at the hospital, working the night shift.” Mary said, trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes. 

Sherlock grabbed Molly’s hand and dragged her back towards the idling cab on the curb. 

“Now hold on!” Mary yelled, rushing toward the closet to grab her coat. “I’m coming too!”

Sherlock turned around, “No, you’re not. You’re pregnant! Go back inside.”

“Like hell I am!” Mary yelled, pushing past him into the cab next to Molly. Sherlock sighed and slipped in next to her and told the cabbie to rush to St. Bart’s. He gave him an extra 10 quid to hurry. 

They jumped out of the cab at Bart’s and ran inside. Mary led them up to John office, Sherlock lending his assistance up the stairs. They burst through the door. John looked up at their sudden appearance, raising his eyebrows. “What’s going on here?”

“Moriarty’s here.” Molly blurted out, out of breath. 

John laughed and looked around. “Where? Is he hiding under my desk, Molly?” 

Sherlock almost smacked him. “This is serious, John! Moriarty said that you’re next. He’s been watching us for who knows how long.” 

“What would he want with me, Sherlock?” John asked. The question hung in the air. 

A knock sounded at the door and Sherlock was at it in a second. He opened it and a man stood there. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I need to talk to Dr. Watson about some lab results.”

“Ah, Barrie, come in.” John said, beckoning the young man in with a welcoming hand. 

The lab technician brushed past Sherlock and dropped the folder he was holding on John’s desk. They began talking about some patient and Molly took a step toward Sherlock. She clasped his hand firmly in her as he watched the man carefully. 

It happened so quickly, Sherlock barely had time to deduce it before it did. Barrie pulled a knife out of his pocket in a flash and plunged it deep into John’s chest. Mary acted first, running at the man with the knife but Sherlock beat her there; she was pregnant, what the hell was she doing running at a man who had just stabbed her husband? Wait, she was Mary Watson; no, she was A.G.R.A. Why was he even questioning it? 

“Molly, take Mary outside! Now!” Sherlock yelled as he grabbed Barrie. He quickly disarmed Moriarty’s assassin and gave John a quick glance. He was attempting to stop the bleeding from his own chest. Apparently you always were a doctor even when you were your own patient. Sherlock had another priority at the moment: keeping everyone safe. 

Barrie swung a fist at Sherlock who dodged it easily and landed his fist against Barrie’s jaw, hearing a satisfying crack. Sherlock’s parents had put him in boxing in his teenage years after he had been bullied. He had excelled, as he did in most things. It didn’t take him long to take Barrie out. His final blow collided with the would-be assassin’s temple, knocking him out. 

“John!” Sherlock yelled as he placed his hand on his best friend’s chest and yelled for the women to rejoin them. They returned with Lestrade and Donovan in tow. Donovan handcuffed Barrie immediately without asking any questions about what had happened. Sherlock yelled, “Someone go get a doctor! He needs help!” 

John Watson was in trouble — the wound was deep. The knife was sitting on the floor and Lestrade placed it in an evidence bag. Molly had run off, in search of help. It didn’t take long for her to return with a team of professionals to whisk John off to surgery. Molly held Mary as they watched John on the gurney being run down the hallway to the elevator. 

Sherlock observed the scene in surprising silence. Normally he would make a comment if it were someone else. But not John. This was serious. John could die and Sherlock couldn’t live with himself if that happened. He could have stopped it. He could have had he been paying attention but Molly had distracted him. She just had to hold his hand at that precise moment. She had distracted him and it had cost John dearly. 

Sherlock couldn’t take it, he walked away in the opposite direction of John’s gurney.

“Hey, where are you off to? I need your statement!” Lestrade called after him.  

Sherlock didn’t say a thing. He shoved open a set of double doors and let them slam shut after him, leaving a rather stunned crowd behind.


	9. Drug of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade and Mycroft search for Sherlock. (Drug use.)

“Where would he go?” Lestrade asked, pacing back and forth. Mycroft’s elbows were placed on his desk as he rested his head on his clasped hands; his eyes followed Lestrade’s movements. 

“Will you please stop that?” Mycroft asked, raising his head slightly. “It’s getting distracting.”

Lestrade stopped in his tracks and turned toward Mycroft. He sighed and sat down across from him. “Fine. What are Sherlock’s bolt holes again?” 

“Parliament Hill, Camden Lock, Dagmar Court, Kew Gardens, Hampstead Cemetery, Leinster Gardens, and Molly Hooper’s bedroom.” Mycroft said, frowning. “But I don’t think he’s at any of those at all.”

Lestrade leaned back in his chair, crossing his right leg over his left. “And why do you say that?”

Mycroft leaned forward and replied, “He doesn’t want to be found. He knows that we are aware of these bolt holes. He’s not going to make this easy for us, Detective Inspector.”

“Please call me Greg.”

“That sounds far too informal; we’ll settle on Lestrade.” Mycroft said in a rush, getting an idea. He pulled out his laptop and began to check several sites that were off-limits to normal civilians, his fingers a blur. They were mainly lists that the government had compiled. Mycroft cracked a smile and shut his laptop. “Found it.”

“Found what?” Lestrade asked.

“Sherlock will be at a drug den in Camden by the canal.” 

“And how could you possibly know that?” 

Mycroft sighed. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

His driver brought the car around to the front of the building and Lestrade and Mycroft got into the back seat. As soon as the car was speeding toward Camden, Lestrade asked, “Now, how do you know this is where Sherlock is?” 

“It’s where he would run away in his teenage years. He didn’t think I knew about it. I only knew it was in Camden, I hadn’t the faintest idea where. We have a list of all drug dens in the area and this one is the most likely.” Mycroft said, a hint of sadness in his voice. He stared out the window, ignoring Lestrade. “It’s right next to his bolt hole, Camden Lock. He would hide there when the police raided whatever drug den he was in nearby. This is why he has this bolt hole.”

“Why do you think he’s in a drug den?” Lestrade asked. 

“His best friend was just shot and he could have stopped it. It’s Sherlock. You have to be able to think like him to understand it.” Mycroft responded before remaining silent for most of the ride.   
Lestrade finally spoke, “It must be hard, having a brother who’s addicted to drugs.” He almost said ‘addict’ but he thought that was too harsh. 

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Mycroft said, glancing at the Detective Inspector before turning to look out the window again. Lestrade nodded to himself before looking at Mycroft sadly. Lestrade placed a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder, hoping to reassure him. Mycroft turned his head to look at him. He was speechless for a moment then said, “What do you think you’re doing, Greg?”

Lestrade quickly withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

Mycroft ignored him for the rest of the short drive. They pulled up in front of the address he had given the driver. Mycroft exited the vehicle without a word to Lestrade, who followed in equal silence. 

The drug den was an old rundown home two blocks from the canal. Mycroft tried the door but it was stuck shut. Lestrade said, “Allow me.”

Mycroft stepped aside and Lestrade took a deep breath before kicking at the door. Mycroft scoffed and rolled his eyes when Lestrade bounced back from it, but he was a resilient man. It took Lestrade five attempts to kick open the door. The hinges broke off of it and it flew into the wall. Mycroft said in a rather bored voice, “Rather impressive, Lestrade.” He brushed passed the Detective Inspector and into the building. It was filthy inside, debris everywhere. Mycroft marched through the halls and rooms, Lestrade trailing behind him. He actually ran into Mycroft’s back when he stopped suddenly upon entering a room.

“Oh, Sherlock…” Mycroft muttered. Lestrade stepped around Mycroft and looked at the scene in front of them. 

There were several chairs scattered about the room, each one occupied by a junkie. Directly in front of them sat Sherlock, his head resting against the back of the chair. One of his arms was rested out, a needle on the table next to his chair along with a bag of cocaine. Mycroft’s eyes darted over Sherlock. His coat lay on the back of the chair, as did his shirt. He sat there in a simple white tank top, which was dirty now. He must have gotten into a fight with another junkie; not surprising given Sherlock’s demeanor when he was high. He had several new holes in his arms, two on each; Mycroft could see several old scars from past injections. Sherlock had been busy since leaving Bart’s nearly twelve hours ago. 

Mycroft approached his brother and gently put a hand on his shoulder. He shook him. “Sherlock.” He got no response. It took a lot of shaking before Sherlock’s head finally rolled their way and he managed to say, “Waaaah?”

“Can you stand, Sherlock?” Mycroft said, growing cold immediately. His brother was safe; now he just had to get him home and sober. 

“Yaaaah. Of course I can…” Sherlock mumbled. Lestrade and Mycroft each took one of his hands and pulled him out of the chair. They each put one of his arms over they shoulders and slid an arm around him and helped him out of the building. Out in the fresh air, Sherlock moaned. “Et’s bright!” 

“Oi, shut it.” Lestrade said, scolding the drugged up detective. Sherlock just kicked the ground as the car pulled up. Lestrade sat in the front with the driver so the Holmes brothers could chat. He was glad to be in the front because it was mostly soundproof. The barrier was up and he could barely hear Mycroft chastising Sherlock on his role in society and how this habit would make the papers again but it would be real this time. He was a public figure. Lestrade frowned. He sympathized with Sherlock — his friend had just been shot. He needed to deal with it the only way he knew how. 

They pulled in front of 221B Baker Street. Mycroft unloaded Sherlock from the car and helped him up the stairs with Lestrade trailing behind. He opened the door to the flat and found Molly sitting on the couch, reading a book. She looked up upon their arrival and her eyes widened. “Sherlock!” She jumped off of the couch and ran at him. She hugged him tightly and it took him thirty second to recognize who she was and hug her back.

“He’s in your care, Molly. He’s extremely high. He will be hyper for several hours. He may experience aggression. Then he should be sleepy around midnight.” Lestrade said, speaking from years of experience with Scotland Yard. Molly nodded.

“Have fun with your new pet. He requires a lot of attention.” Mycroft said, a smirk playing at his lips. He looked at Lestrade and motioned toward the door. 

“Good luck, Molly.” Lestrade said.

“Thanks, Greg.” She replied, worry in her eyes. She turned to look at Sherlock, who was plucking at his violin, in danger of breaking one of the strings. She glanced back at the men, but they were gone. She was all alone with a coked up Sherlock Holmes.


	10. Don't Trust Him When He's High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is left with a very high Sherlock Holmes. He is not a nice person when high.

 

Molly turned back to Sherlock. He had abandoned his violin, which he had laid on the desk. She saw him disappear into his bedroom. She followed him, wondering what he was up to. She walked into his room but didn’t find him anywhere; that was until the door snapped shut behind her and he stepped out from behind it. He pulled her toward him and kissed her frantically. She murmured, “Sherlock.” He ignored her and continued to kiss her like his life depended on it. She tried to push him away but he wasn’t having it. He finally broke contact with her lips and she was able to breathe.

Sherlock’s lips grazed her neck. She was able to shy away. “Sherlock, I was up all night at the hospital with Mary.” She glanced at the clock; 12:55pm. She had been awake for over 30 hours now. He didn’t stop his attacks though. He was determined to have sex with her. She added, “John’s going to be okay though.” Sherlock’s lips stilled.

“He will?” Molly nodded, looking into his eyes. He gave her a big kiss and smiled. He grabbed her hips forcefully and his lips crashed against hers. He pushed her against the wall and pinned her there with his body. She shoved against him with all of her might.

Sherlock took a few staggering steps back, dazed. “What’s wrong?”

Molly glared at him. “I’m tired, Sherlock! And now, I have to babysit you because you went and got so high you can’t be left alone!”

Molly slapped Sherlock hard across the face and stalked off into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. It didn’t register to him for a moment then he frowned and walked over to the bathroom door and knocked. Molly yelled, “Go away!” Sherlock nodded to himself and went back into his bedroom. He walked to his bookshelf and pulled the Morocco leather case from the bottom shelf, hidden beneath several books. He pocked it and walked out into the living room. He passed the now open bathroom door. Molly had drawn a bath and was stepping into it. She sank down into the bubbles and looked over at Sherlock, who was watching her. He asked, “Why’s the door open?”

“So I can keep an eye on you.” Molly said. Sherlock nodded and walked toward the living room. He called, “I’ll just be playing the violin.” She replied, “Play me something good.”

Sherlock went to the CDs and found the one he had done for John and Mary’s wedding. He popped it into the CD Player and hit Play. After a few measures of the song, Molly called from the bathroom, “Is this the one you did for the wedding?”

“Yes!” He called back, pulling out the case and opening it. He pulled out his syringe and began to prepare it. He was very quick at this, having practice over the years. It wasn’t long before he had a syringe mostly full of liquid cocaine. It was well over his usual seven-per-cent solution but he needed more than his usual high. Sherlock took his syringe to his chair and sat down, leaning back. He set his arm on the armrest and relaxed it. He placed the needle against his vein the was always popped out. He took a breath and slid it into his vein. He pressed down on the top of the syringe, releasing the cocaine into his system. He pulled it out and placed it back in his box, closing the lid. He sighed and waited for it to take him over again. It only took a few minutes before he was on an intense high.

That was where Molly found him twenty minutes later when the CD had run out and she grew suspicious. He was staring into the kitchen, calculating how fast mold could grow on one of the cups they had left out for the past week. He looked up at her only when she was directly in front of him, blocking his view of the cup. “Ah, hello Molly; have a good bath?”

“What are you doing?” She asked, crossing her arms over her dressing gown.

He reached up and pulled the string of her gown, attempting to disrobe her. “I’m about to ravish you, darling.”

She slapped his hand away and his eyes grew dark — it scared her, yet she held her ground. “No, you’re not.”

He looked up at her as if seeing her for the first time. At first his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her but then it all turned dark, a pit of black. His face went blank for a second then he grew angry, very angry. “You’re the reason John got hurt.”

“What are you on about, Sherlock?” Molly asked, backing away from him. Sherlock stood and grabbed her arm, gripping her hard. “That hurts, Sherlock!”

“I’m sure John hurts right now, Molly Hooper. And you did that to him.”

“I did nothing to John!” Molly attempted to free her arm to no avail. “The assassin Moriarty sent did that.” Sherlock’s grip only grew tighter. “Do you remember Moriarty, Sherlock? You should be spending your time trying to find him and not hurting me.”

At that, Sherlock raised his hand and slapped Molly across the face. She fell against John’s old chair and sat there, cowering in fear of Sherlock Holmes. She didn’t know what he would do to her nor what he was capable of.

“Sherlock, please…”

She could see him shaking and knew that this wouldn’t end well for either of them. He was breathing heavily although he hadn’t done much. He towered over her, chest heaving with anger. She said, calmly, “Sherlock, you should sit down. You don’t look well.”

“You don’t look well, Molly Hoop…” Sherlock stopped and bent over. He placed a hand over his mouth. Molly opened her mouth to speak but he raised a finger to silence her. He knew how grave the situation could turn for him, he had calculated it many times. However, he had miscalculated how much he could take this time based on how much he had last time. He must have misjudged how much time had passed between injections. _Stupid, Sherlock, stupid!_

Sherlock ran to the bathroom and Molly hurried after him, nursing the tender spot on her face. He hurled himself at the toilet and promptly began to vomit. Molly approached him cautiously; upon seeing his vulnerable state, placed a hand on his back and rubbed it, soothingly.

“I don’t feel good, Molly.” Sherlock mumbled against the toilet bowl.

She rolled her eyes to herself. “That makes two of us.”

Molly pulled out her mobile and dialed 999 to phone an ambulance, that was the moment Sherlock Holmes passed out. 

 

* * *

 

John Watson rolled up to Sherlock Holmes’ hospital bed. Sherlock opened his eyes and cracked a smile through dry lips. “John, you look terrible.”

“Yeah, well I was stabbed by someone else.” John said, smiling. “And you overdosed on your own accord. I think I win this round.”

“This isn’t a game, John.” Sherlock said, his smile faltering. “The game is out there. And we must get back to it. Moriarty will strike again and I fear he will get Molly for good this time.”

John sighed and leaned back in his wheelchair. “Molly’s safe.”

Sherlock scoffed. “I hardly think that Mrs. Hudson is enough security!”

John shifted uncomfortably, wincing as he did. “Sherlock. She’s not at Baker Street anymore.”

Sherlock sat up in bed too fast and gave a yelp of pain. “Where the hell is she?”

“Well given how you treated her while you were high, you can’t very well expect her to stay there any longer, can you?”

“I said, where the hell is she?” Sherlock’s voice raised, he now glared at his best friend. He looked downright scary. John backed up out of reach.

“She’s at Lestrade’s.”


	11. She's Not There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft convinces Sherlock to win Molly back but is hit with the reality of the situation.

Sherlock was released from the hospital the following day. He found Mycroft waiting for him with a car outside. Sherlock walked past him, choosing to walk home rather than sit in the car with his brother. Mycroft followed him on foot with the car trailing them.  
  
“Sherlock,” he said, “don’t be ridiculous. Get in the car. You’re supposed to rest.”  
  
Sherlock stopped in his tracks. He was already getting winded and Baker Street was much farther than he had anticipated. “Fine,” he muttered. Mycroft opened the door and Sherlock slid into the car. Mycroft entered after him. The driver took off, already knowing the destination. Mycroft looked Sherlock over. Again, he looked horrible. He always looked horrible when he used drugs.  
  
Sherlock asked quietly, “Am I correct in assuming the Lestrade and Anderson are at my flat searching for drugs?”  
  
Mycroft nodded. “Not Lestrade, brother mine. We can’t have you throttling the dear Detective Inspector.” A blush flashed across Mycroft’s cheeks for a second before disappearing. Mycroft could regain his composer quickly. “Sergeant Donovan is in his stead.” Mycroft looked at Sherlock only to see him staring at him intently. He sighed, “What is it, Sherlock?”  
  
“You blushed. Why did you blush?” Sherlock stared intently at his elder brother who tried his best to ignore his question.  
  
“Baker Street, sir.” Mycroft’s driver said. Mycroft exited without answering Sherlock, proceeding through the unlocked door and up to Sherlock’s flat. Sherlock followed slowly, messing up the door knocker before he entered the home. He shut the door behind him and ambled up the stairs. There was a lot of commotion coming from his flat and he sighed. He walked into the living room and saw Anderson and Donovan staring at him.  
  
“Again, Sherlock?” Anderson said, frowning at him.  
  
“Oh shut it, will you?” Sherlock said, walking past them both. He went into his bedroom and went to his bookcase. He pulled out his small bag of cocaine and walked back out. He handed it to Donovan. “That’s all I have. Now leave.”  
  
Donovan looked at Mycroft. “The freak’s being cooperative?”  
  
“If you call Sherlock Holmes a freak in my presence again, you will find yourself removed from Scotland Yard and barred from every police force in the United Kingdom.” Mycroft said, shooting a glare at Sergeant Donovan. She just nodded and handed the cocaine to Anderson, who placed it in an evidence bag. Mycroft was still staring at Donovan. “I believe he said for you two to leave.”  
  
Anderson quickly packed up and patted Sherlock, who had taken up residence in his chair, on the shoulder in passing. When they were gone and the door shut, Sherlock said, “You too, Mycroft. Goodbye.”  
  
Mycroft chuckled and shook his head. “Why would I leave you alone?”  
  
“I want to be alone, Mycroft.” He said, pulling his knees up onto the chair and hugging them. He rested his head on them. “All of my drugs are gone. Molly’s gone. I don’t want company. NOW GET OUT!” Sherlock raised himself out of his chair to scream at his brother, who was surprised at his outburst. Mycroft thought they were passed the point where they could surprise each other.  
  
He walked over and sat across from Sherlock in John’s chair. Sherlock had curled up in a ball again.  
  
“Do you love Ms. Hooper?” Mycroft asked. Sherlock mumbled a response. “Speak up, brother mine. The chair cushion is not interested in your answer yet I have taken interest in something as domestic as this.”  
  
Sherlock turned his head. “Yes, I love her. I always have.”  
  
“Have you told her?”  
  
“Of course not! And now I never will.” Sherlock spat. Mycroft stood and smacked his brother’s leg. “What was that for, _Myc_?”  
  
“Come. We’re going to Lestrade’s.”  
  
“She doesn’t want to see me.”  
  
“We’ll know for sure when we get there.” Mycroft said, walking toward the door. Sherlock could do nothing but stand and follow; he had to know.

  


* * *

  


“Molly!” Sherlock said as soon as the door opened. He had been pounding on it for a solid minute before it was answered. Only, it wasn’t Molly. “Lestrade.”

“What can I do for you, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, leaning against the wall next to the door. 

“You know very well what you can do. Let me see Molly!” Sherlock tried to push past Lestrade but Greg shoved him back with more force than Sherlock thought him capable.

Lestrade stepped out of his apartment and shut the door. He shoved Sherlock against the wall and said, “You’re not going to see Molly. You’re not going to hurt her again. Do you understand that, Sherlock Holmes?”

“Ease up on him, Lestrade. He just got out of hospital.” Mycroft said from his spot leaning against the opposite wall.

“Mycroft.” Lestrade said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought it better that I bring him than for him to take a cab. He was going to come anyway.” Mycroft replied. “It’s best that he has adult supervision.” 

“I’m not a child, Mycroft!” Sherlock said, his eyes shooting venom at his brother.

“You keep telling yourself that, brother mine. That doesn’t make it true.”

Lestrade released Sherlock, who shook his coat to straighten it.

“I’m not letting you in, Sherlock.” Lestrade said, stepping away from him. 

“Molly!” Sherlock yelled, walking to the door. He began to bang on it. One of Lestrade’s neighbors came out to see what the commotion was. Lestrade dealt with her quickly then grabbed Sherlock and walked him toward Mycroft. 

“Please take him home.” Lestrade said, forcing Sherlock against Mycroft.

“But he loves Ms. Hooper. Just let them talk.” Mycroft said, frowning at Lestrade. 

Lestrade shook his head. “He has a funny way of showing it. He hit her, Mycroft. While he was high, your brother hit her. She has a black eye.” 

Mycroft looked at Sherlock, who avoided his gaze. “Is that true?”

“I’m not proud of what I did.” Sherlock admitted. 

“Find your own way home, Sherlock.” Mycroft said. He turned to Lestrade. “May I see her?”

“Of course.” Lestrade said, glaring at Sherlock before letting Mycroft into his flat. 

The door slammed shut in Sherlock’s face. He sat against it and wrapped his arms around his knees again. This was the first time that Sherlock Holmes had cried in years.


	12. Sherlock Remembers Lestrade's First Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has to see the damage his brother has done for himself. Sherlock apologizes, finally remembers Lestrade's first name, and accepts that he needs help.

“Please, sit.” Lestrade said, motioning toward the sitting room. “I’ll get Molly.” 

Mycroft sat down in a rather lumpy armchair and glanced around, not surprised with what he found. Lestrade’s flat was tiny but it fit a man like him. A galley kitchen and a minuscule sitting room with a large screen TV. Mycroft knew that there were two bedrooms, one very small one in the back and a large one by the front door. There also was a small bathroom. Mycroft knew the ins and outs of all of Sherlock’s acquaintances homes. He made sure of that, just in case. 

“No, need to get me, Greg.” Molly said, coming out of the back hallway. “The wall’s aren’t all that thick.” 

Molly sat down on the couch and Lestrade took the place next to her. Mycroft looked at Molly hard. He sighed and got to his feet. He walked over and stood in front of Molly. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her head so he could see the damage up close. The bruise was a deep purple, there was no yellowing yet, it was very fresh still. 

“My dear Molly, I am sorry for my brother’s actions.” Mycroft said, releasing his hold on her. 

“Um, thank you, Mycroft. I am too.” Molly looked away. Mycroft’s gaze was intimidating. “Why are you here, Mycroft?” 

“Molly, my brother has wronged you and I intend to make it right.” Mycroft replied, having resumed his seat across from them. 

“Is that the only reason?” She asked, casting Lestrade a quick glance. Her eyes settled back on Mycroft and she was met with a very dangerous look.

“Yes, Ms. Hooper. That is the only reason.” Mycroft said, snarkily.

“My apologies.” She muttered under her breath. Lestrade shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked out the window.

“No need for that.” Mycroft said, waving it off. Mycroft leaned forward and said, “Now, Molly, Sherlock…”

She cut him off, “Loves me. I heard. Your voice carries more than you know, Mr. Holmes, even through walls.”

“How did you hear?” Lestrade interjected. “You were in the back room.”

“Um, no. I may have ran out here to listen then back there quickly when I heard you two coming in.” Molly said quickly, blushing profusely.

“Oh.” Lestrade mumbled. 

“Anyway. I’m certain that Sherlock would have rather told you that little piece of information himself, but now that it is known, what shall we do with it?” Mycroft asked. 

“How is that any of our business?” Lestrade asked, finally looking at Mycroft. 

“Changing your tune, are you?” Molly asked, turning toward Lestrade. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I heard you, Greg. He wants to see me but you don’t think it’s a good idea. But, the thing is, it’s not your decision; it’s mine.”

“He hurt you, Molly.” Lestrade said, frowning.

“You think I don’t know that?” She said, her hand raising to her black eye. It hurt terribly but she liked that it was there; it reminded her that she couldn’t forgive Sherlock easily. She couldn’t fall into his arms the second she saw him again, like she knew she would. She continued, “I just have to hear why he did all of this. And I need to hear it from him. I know that you could easily tell me, Mycroft, but he needs to explain it to me.”

Mycroft just shook his head. “In full, I cannot explain it. I only know part of the story — the facts. I could never explain his feelings.”

Molly stood and walked toward the hallway. “Bring him to the back room.”

Lestrade rose from the couch. “I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

“Yes you are, Greg.” She said, getting annoyed with how protective he was being. “I’ll yell if I’m in danger.” She continued down the hall into the small bedroom. 

She shut the door behind her, taking a deep breath as she did. Am I ready for this? She moved from the door and sat down on the bed. The room was Lestrade’s office, a desk took up most of it but he had managed a small bed for guests. She was just glad that he had taken her in. 

There was a soft knock on the door. Trying to sound confident although the shake in her voice betrayed her, she said, “Come in.” 

Lestrade entered first and pulled Sherlock in after him…in handcuffs. Molly didn’t even object, seeing Sherlock for the first time since the incident sent a shiver up her spine and not in a good way. In handcuffs was the perfect place for him right now. Lestrade shoved Sherlock against the wall and said, “Don’t try anything.” Lestrade looked at Molly before leaving, closing the door with a snap.

Molly grabbed a pillow from behind her and placed it in her lap; she leaned against the wall, watching Sherlock. He pushed himself off the wall with his body and walked toward Molly. She shrank away from him. 

“Molly, I…” Sherlock began, unable to form a sentence. Molly took in his appearance. His hair was messed up, his curls not up to par; he was very pale and there were deep bags under his eyes; and he looked like he could use a decent meal.

Tears freely fell from his face, he couldn’t wipe them away as his hands were handcuffed behind his back. Sherlock took a few steps away from Molly and said, “Molly, I cannot apologize for how much I have wronged you. You had nothing to do with John getting hurt, I see that now. The bruise on your face will be a reminder to me of what drugs do to me — I become violent when I take too much.” He looked down at the floor and continued, “I’m done with them, Molly. You are much more important to me than getting high.” He raised his head and found her staring at him with an intensity that would have made someone else feel uncomfortable. But not Sherlock and surely not when he was pouring his heart out for her. “The truth is, I love you Molly. I always have and I always will. You are the most important person to me and I will never be able to forgive myself for how I have treated you. You didn’t deserve what I did, and I promise you that I will never do it again.”

There was silence for several minutes, the two just stared at each other. Molly didn’t know what to say. She was filled with rage but she loved him, despite what he had done. She couldn’t do anything though, she refused to forgive him. He had hurt her, both physically and emotionally. 

“I can’t trust you, Sherlock.” Molly said, her face starting to turn red. She wasn’t embarrassed; he could tell that she was about to cry. And sure enough as she continued to speak, tears began to roll down her cheeks. “You’ve bruised me inside and out, Sherlock Holmes. I can’t forgive that easily.”

Sherlock walked over and sat next to Molly on the bed. Molly cast aside the pillow and turned toward him. He looked at her but didn’t face her entirely. He said, “I know, Molly. I’ll have to earn it. I don’t deserve your respect nor do I expect it. I just need you to know how I feel.”

Molly sighed. She scooted closer to him and raised a hand up. He thought she was going to slap him but instead, she placed her hand on his cheek and wiped the tears from his face. Sherlock smiled into her palm but she smacked it away. She said, “That’s for giving me a black eye.”

Sherlock just nodded and replied, “I deserve worse than that. You can slap me again, if you wish.”

Molly smacked him lightly, he didn’t even feel a sting. She said, “You’ll have to make me want to forgive you, Sherlock. I don’t know how you’re going to do it; I’m very upset.” 

Sherlock leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I intend to earn your forgiveness, Molly.” With that, he stood and walked over to the door, knocking his shoulder against it. Lestrade opened it, Sherlock exited but Lestrade entered.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. And please remove his handcuffs.” Molly said, laying down on the bed and turning away from him.  


  


* * *

  
Sherlock rubbed his wrists after Lestrade removed the handcuffs. “Thank you, Greg.”

Lestrade just huffed and sat down on the couch, turning on the television. Mycroft rose from the chair and walked to his brother. “Come, let’s get you home.”

Sherlock shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Take me to John.” 

Mycroft chuckled. “Why do you need to see John?”

“He’s a romantic. And I need to get back into Molly Hooper’s good graces.”


	13. The Watsons Hatch A Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mary scheme with Sherlock to win Molly back. Sherlock gets in a fight and ruins his flowers.

Mary ran to the door and found Sherlock on the other side. He had been pounding on it like his life depended on it. “Sherlock! You have to stop doing this! John needs his rest, you wanker!”

“I’m sorry, Mary!” Sherlock said, entering the home without her invitation. He glanced back and saw Mycroft’s car drive away. He truly was on his own now. 

“Yes, Sherlock, of course you can come in.” Mary said sarcastically. She slammed the door shut and placed her hands on her hips. Her pregnant belly was very prominent. She was almost ready to pop — a few more weeks, maybe.

“Where’s John?” Sherlock asked, looking around the sitting room as if expecting him to be waiting there with a list of suggestions and fish and chips. 

Mary rolled her eyes and said, “He’s in the garden, reading.”

Sherlock turned to head that way but stopped and walked over to Mary. He kissed her on the cheek and said, “It’s good to see you, Mary. You look lovely.”

“Surprisingly, I’ve missed you too, Sherlock. And thank you.” She said, smiling. “Would you like tea?”

“Please.” He called over his shoulder as he walked toward the garden. He opened the door and stepped out onto the patio. John was seated in a chair with a book in his hands, some medical journal. Mary had made the most of their small garden and had planted flowers; how very domestic of a former freelance assassin. “Hello John.”

“Sherlock, I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” John said, setting down the journal. Sherlock sat down opposite him as John turned to face him.

“How are you?” Sherlock asked after noticing John’s discomfort at moving. 

“Sore. Getting stabbed is no picnic.” John replied.

“Getting shot is much worse.” Sherlock said, grinning.

“This isn’t a bloody competition, Sherlock.”

“Of course it isn’t. Although both were very bloody.”

John laughed then a silence fell over them for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. John pulled himself out of his reverie and said, “What brings you here, Sherlock?”

“I’m in need of Molly’s forgiveness.” That was all that he said. John just looked at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“And…?” John asked. 

“And I’m asking for your help.” Sherlock said, looking John in the eye.

John just laughed, his head falling back as he did. His whole body shook with laughter, he clutched the spot when he had been stabbed, laughing through the pain. “The great Sherlock Holmes needs my help?” Sherlock stared at him blankly. John continued, “Fine. What am I supposed to do?” 

“I’m not the most social person. I’m surprised Molly even took a chance on me…”

John cut him off. “I knew that Molly loved you from the moment I saw the two of you together for the first time. It took me a while to figure out that you loved her too, after I realized that you were even capable of human emotions. I thought you were a robot for the longest time.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, “Done?”

“Not even close, but I’ll stop for your sake.” John said as Mary came out of the home, holding a tray. She set it down on the table that the men sat at. She poured everyone a cup of tea and the men each took one, thanking her. Mary sat down and took the last cup for herself. 

“So, what are you two on about? I heard John laughing from inside.” Mary said, looking at each of them in turn over the top of her cup. 

“Sherlock is having Molly troubles.” John said. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t do drugs.” Mary said, giving him a look. Sherlock glared at her.

“Thank you, Mary. I couldn’t have figured that out on my own.” He said, rolling his eyes. “Can we cast aside the joking, Watsons?” 

“I suppose.” John muttered.

“Now, I came here for John’s help. But, as you and Molly have become quite chummy over the past year, I guess you can help too, Mary.” 

“I’m honored.” Mary said, giving him a roll of her eyes. 

Sherlock ignored her. “I don’t have anything on the subject of ‘winning someone back’ stored in my Mind Palace. I never thought I would be someone’s friend, and I had certainly cast aside the ridiculous notion of falling in love with someone.” He looked at Mary to see if she was startled by the news that he was in love with Molly. She was not. Of course Mary knows… “And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are.” John said, nodding. “Now shut it and drink your tea. The missus and I have much to discuss.”

Sherlock just grinned and picked up his cup, settling in to watch the Watsons expertly plot his rise to Molly’s good graces again.  


  


* * *

  
“Are you sure you don’t mind me going out?” Lestrade asked, pulling on his coat. Molly was seated on the couch, the television turned to some old movie that she was barely watching. 

“You haven’t been out in ages, Greg. Have fun.” Molly said, smiling at him. That act didn’t hurt anymore. It had been nearly a week since her incident with Sherlock and her black eye had dulled to a yellow. “Are you going to tell me who it’s with at least?” 

“No.” Lestrade said, kissing her on top of the head. “By the way, I’m stationing an officer outside the door.”

“That’s not necessary, Greg!” Molly said, rising from the couch. 

He gently pushed her back down. “Yes, it is. If I’m not here, someone will be here to keep you safe.”

She didn’t even bother with arguing anymore. Once Lestrade wanted to do something, nothing could get him to change his mind. He was a stubborn man and she knew that all too well. “Fine, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Thank you, Molly.” He said before walking out the door.

Molly settled in for a long, boring night of watching telly and ordering Chinese. It was just what she needed, some alone time. She hadn’t heard anything from Sherlock in several days and didn’t expect to hear anything from him tonight. That was, until a commotion out in the hallway had her abandoning her night of solitude. She walked to the door and opened it. Two men were fighting, the detective of Scotland Yard and another. A man with unmistakable curly, black hair, very high cheekbones, and a strong jawline. Sherlock overpowered the detective and had him pinned to the ground, his knee on his chest.

“Molly!” Sherlock choked out, his face red from the bout. 

“Let him go!” Molly said, placing her hands on her hips. Sherlock released the detective. “Why are you here, Sherlock?”

“I brought you flowers.” He said, giving her his best lopsided grin. She could see what remained of them strewn across the hallway. “But Detective Dickhead ruined them.” 

“My apologies, Dr. Hooper. But I was told to not let anyone dangerous in and certainly not Sherlock Holmes.” The detective said, rubbing his chest. He shot a glare at Sherlock. 

Molly ignored what both men had said and asked again, “Why are you here, Sherlock?” 

“I came here to ask if you would do me the honor of accompanying me on a date tonight.” Sherlock said, placing both hands behind his back, awaiting her answer patiently. 

A date? Surely this was not his idea. Sherlock Holmes was far from a romantic and she doubted that he had even taken anyone on a date, not even Janine whom he had been trying to fool into falling in love with him. John and Mary — it must have been. Molly looked at him, raising an eyebrow. She wondered what he had in store for her. 

“Alright.” Molly said, giving him a small smile.


	14. Lestrade Lives in Lambeth - Rude!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes Molly on the date that they should have had weeks ago, with some added romance and an added person, DI Jones.

“I didn’t expect to have company on this date.” Sherlock said, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the detective trailing them.

“He’s here to keep me safe.” Molly said, looking back at the man. 

“You were perfectly safe when I was protecting you, or have they forgotten?”

“I wasn’t, that’s what they remember.” Molly said, not willing to meet his eye. Sherlock’s heart sank as he walked a step behind her. She wandered aimlessly in front of him as he thought over just how true that was. 

_What if this isn’t enough? Certainly I cannot go back to life without Molly. That was no life at all. This cannot fail. Trying again if of absolute import. She already is questioning this, it cannot work now. Best to cut and run…_

“Sherlock?” Molly asked, standing in front of him. Her hand was on his chest to stop him from walking into her. She quickly removed it and asked, “Where are we going? You’ve been letting me lead the way, yet I have no idea where our destination is.” 

Sherlock raised his hand to hail a cab. “Ah, yes. Lestrade is rude enough to live in Lambeth but we’ll get there in good time.” 

A cab pulled up, Sherlock opened the door and Molly entered followed promptly by the detective. Sherlock scowled at the man and slid in next to him. The cabbie asked, “Where to?”

“This address, quick as you can.” Sherlock said, handing him a slip of paper. 

They rode in silence, Sherlock wanted to tell Molly everything that was on his mind but he didn’t particularly want strangers around when he was pouring his heart out to her. They arrived at the address he had given the cabbie and Sherlock exited after paying, holding the door for the other two. He wanted to slam the door shut in Detective Inspector Jones’ face. He, however, was the bigger man and held it open for both of them, choosing to give Jones a glare which changed immediately into a heartwarming smile for Molly. He offered her his arm and she looked at him in surprise but took it nonetheless. She had to fight off the smile that tugged at her lips. She was supposed to be mad at him, wasn’t she? 

Sherlock stopped in front of a shop and Molly’s eyes widened. Sherlock saw and just nodded, “Yes, this is the date that we were supposed to have several weeks ago.” 

“But Sherlock, it doesn’t say that it’s open…” Molly said, stopping a few feet from the door and looking at the shop. 

“Exactly.” He said, giving her that stupid lopsided grin that she loved so much. He opened the door and held it for her. She entered the fish shop on Marylebone Road, Jones and Sherlock followed. Sherlock muttered to Jones, “Please just wait outside. This is private.”

Jones nodded, looking over what he had set up. “Good luck, Mr. Holmes. This looks…lovely.” The detective inspector exited and stood outside of the restaurant, blocking the door from others. Sherlock almost smiled at the detective — _almost_. 

He turned his attention back to Molly, who was staring around the room. She turned back to him and asked, “Did you do all of this?”

“I had some help.” He admitted.

“I’ll have to thank John the next time I see him.” 

One table stood in the middle of the room, on it sat a lone candle. The rest of the tables had been pushed back to give that one space, each one had a vase in the center filled with a dozen roses. Surrounding each vase were several candles, equally spaced. The candles were the only lighting in the entire room and it was absolutely lovely. Two glasses of wine sat at their table, full of white wine; two plates full of fish and chips beside them. Sherlock walked up to her and placed a hand on her back, guiding her over to the table. He held out her chair and she sat down, he tucked it in then sat opposite her. “Thank you for coming out with me tonight, Molly.” 

“Well I told you that I would give you a chance.” She said. 

He nodded. She really wasn’t making this easy for him. He hadn’t exactly made things easy on her though, so he didn’t blame her. 

“That’s a lovely dress, Molly. Did you wear it to Christmas a few years back?” Sherlock asked.

“Do you mean when you humiliated me in front of our friends?” Molly asked, picking up her wine glass. He nodded with a grimace. 

“Yes, I apologize for that. I was an arse before my fall and I’m trying to make it up to you, Molly.” He said, frowning. She took a sip of her wine.

“Oh! This wine is lovely.” Molly said, surprised. She took another sip. 

“Your mother helped me pick it out.” Sherlock said, nonchalantly.

Molly actually spat some of her wine out, everything that she had just sipped. “My mother?”

“Yes. I called her and she suggested this one. Apparently her friend had it on holiday in France recently.” Sherlock said, amused by her reaction.

“You called my mum?” She asked. 

“Yes and after explaining everything to you, she found it in her heart to help me. Although she was very cross with me at first. She made me promise to never hurt you ever again.”

“You told her that you hit me?”

“We were on the phone for nearly two hours. I told her why I used drugs and what it did to me, how you got caught in the crossfires. She seemed to understand.” Sherlock said, picking at his food. 

“My mother was an alcoholic. She overcame it though.”

“She’s a delight, now.” He said, smiling. She could see what he was doing; relating his drug use to her mother's alcoholism. She loved her mum to bits and if she could love her after what she had done growing up, why couldn’t she love Sherlock too? After all, just as he said, Mrs. Hooper was a delight now that she had ceased drinking. 

Molly began to eat her food and was surprised yet again. “This truly is fantastic. You weren’t lying.”

“I have never lied to you, Molly, nor would I ever.” His gaze didn’t waver from hers, even when she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking around, surprised by how much work he had put in the date. She seemed to be enjoying her food and drink immensely. She had finished her glass in no time and he refilled it for her. Her food was demolished, apparently Lestrade didn’t keep a stocked refrigerator. He smiled, glad that she was eating and enjoying it. 

“Let’s say that I believe you, that you're done with the drugs and that you’ll be clean for me. Why me? Why now?” She asked, raising an eyebrow after finishing her meal. 

“Molly, I don’t _need_ anyone. I’m a solitary creature, a creature of habit and that habit definitely doesn’t require any other living soul. I prefer the company of the dead and don’t particularly like the living.” Sherlock began. “But you, you have broken through this and I can’t thank you enough. You’ve opened me up to so many new possibilities and I want to experience them with you and only you. I know that if you take one more chance on me, just one more, I will show you that I’m worth your time because you are the best thing to ever happen to me. I love you, Molly Hooper. I have never felt this way about another soul and I know I never will again. You’re my one shot at happiness and I would be honored if you would take a chance on me. I will never hurt you again.”

Molly looked at him for a moment, fighting back the tears. They welled up and trailed down her cheeks. Sherlock held her face in his hands and frowned, wiping them away frantically. He said, “Please don’t cry, Molly.” She looked up at him with her big brown eyes and he didn’t know what she was feeling. He couldn’t make a deduction for the first time in a long time. Sherlock’s hands were shaking slightly and his breathing was wavering too. He was nervous, to say the least.

“Sherlock Holmes, you are the world’s biggest arse. You are rude, mean, manipulative, and an absolute dick.” Molly smiled into his hands despite the harshness of what she said. “But, in spite of all of this, I love you. Even the worst of you. If you can promise, with all of your heart, to treat me right, I’ll give you another chance.”

“Of course, Molly.” He pulled her face toward his and kissed her with all of his might. It felt good, they hadn’t kissed in almost a week. He had missed her, completely and absolutely missed her. 

Molly wrapped her arms around his neck and it began to get awkward to kiss around the table. Sherlock broke their contact and walked around the table. Molly stood to meet him and they slammed against each other. They were a tangled of arms and legs as they crashed onto the floor.

“Baker Street is only a few blocks from here.” Molly suggested, rubbing her hip that had hit the ground hard. Sherlock grinned and pulled her up off of the ground. They practically ran out of the door, hitting Jones in the back. 

“Oi, watch it!” He said. When they didn’t stop, he started running after them. “Where are you going?”

“You’re relieved of your duty, Detective Inspector! Good night!” Molly shouted, glancing over her shoulder at him, her grip on Sherlock’s hand tightening.


	15. Lestrade Crashes Something Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly get intimate; someone walks in.

They crashed through the door of 221B Baker Street with the force of a hurricane. Sherlock slammed the door shut with his foot as his lips collided with Molly’s. He slammed her against the wall, tangling his tongue with hers. Mrs. Hudson rushed out from her flat, thinking someone had broken in but stopped in her tracks upon seeing the passionate couple. 

“Sherlock! I thought you were a burglar!” She said, exasperated. “And it’s midnight! Keep it down.” She called that over her shoulder as she walked back toward her door.

“We can’t make any promises, Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock said as he pulled Molly by the hand up the stairs. 

He opened the door and shut it quickly once they were inside. He pushed her against the wall again and pressed his body against hers. Sherlock reached behind her and unzipped her dress, he slipped the strapped over her shoulders, it pooled at her feet. Their tongues continued to battle for dominance as Molly slipped his jacket off of his shoulders. Her fingers unbuttoned his shirt with precision and it too joined the pile of clothes forming at their feet. She reached for his belt and unbuckled it. His pants soon were at his feet. Both of them kicked off their shoes and Sherlock grabbed Molly’s thighs and pulled her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Sherlock walked them toward the bedroom, his lips never leaving hers. He bumped her back into the doorjamb and continued into the bedroom; they fell into bed, laughing. 

Molly climbed on top of Sherlock, straddling his hips, her lips descending on his chest. She kissed her way down him, feeling his arousal trail along her skin. Her mouth reached it and she took him in her mouth, she was rewarded with a moan. Her tongue lavished him and her mouth provided the proper amount of suction to send his bucking up into it. She nearly choked on his length but held back. Molly released him with a ‘pop’ and slid back up his body. She wasn’t going to finish him off that way. Molly grabbed him and positioned him at her entrance then slowly slid onto his length until he was fully buried inside of her. Sherlock let out a loud moan as Molly began to slide up and down on him. He gripped her thighs as he shut his eyes in pleasure. Molly placed her hands on his chest to steady herself as her pace quickened. 

Sherlock sat up and placed his hands behind him to prop himself up. His mouth found Molly’s nipple and he sucked on it like it was a matter of life or death. Molly moaned and gripped his hair, pulling hard on his curls. Molly rode him to completion, sliding off of him, both of them panting hard. 

“That was…something.” Sherlock said, out of breath. 

“A good something?” Molly asked, turning her head on the pillow to look at him. 

He turned toward her and sat up on his elbow, resting his head in the palm of his hand. He smiled and said, “A very good something.” He leaned over and placed a quick kiss on her lips. 

Molly smiled and turned over on her stomach, stretching out. She hugged the pillow and turned her head on it to face him. Sherlock placed a hand on her back and began to trace circles on it. Molly shivered at his touch and Sherlock pulled the comforter over them both, assuming she was cold. He continued to trace patterns over her skin. 

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” 

“Can I come home?” She mumbled, eyes shut as she enjoyed Sherlock’s touch on her back. She felt his lips on her temple. Against it, he murmured, “Of course you can, Molly. It hasn’t been the same here without you.”

“And, um, can my cat come and live here?” She asked in a small voice, already knowing that the answer would be ‘no’.

Sherlock’s fingers stopped in their tracing of patterns on her back. “You have a cat?” 

“Yes. Toby. I got him just before I started dating Ji…um, I’ve had him for several years. He’s a sweet boy.”

“Why did you not bring him initially?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t think you would like him. He’s been staying with my mum since I left my flat.” Molly replied, avoiding his gaze. But Sherlock placed a finger on her chin and made her face him. 

“Of course he can.” He said. “And don’t be afraid to ask such things ever again.”

Molly sat up on her elbow and leaned over, kissing him lightly on the lips. Sherlock pulled her against him. She could feel that he was ready for another go. He rolled her onto her back and slid into her, taking it slow. His kissed her slowly, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth. Molly wrapped her arms around his shoulders. When he hit _that_ spot inside of her, her nails dug into his back. She dragged them down; he would have scratches, certainly.

A commotion out in the sitting room made them pause. There was shouting, three sets of voices, all of which they could recognize. Mrs. Hudson was pleading with the other two. There were loud footsteps — running. The door to Sherlock’s bedroom burst open and Greg Lestrade stood on the threshold.

“Molly… _oh_.” Lestrade said, surprised to find them in such a compromising position.

“It’s good to see you too, Lestrade.” Sherlock said, pleasantly, still buried deep inside Molly. “Now, kindly leave.”

“I’ll be out here. We need to talk.” Lestrade said, shutting the door with a snap.

Sherlock looked down at Molly, who was blushing profusely. He kissed her cheeks, trying to soothe the redness away with his lips. He asked, “Shall we get dressed then? We can resume this later.” 

Molly just nodded and Sherlock slid out of her. He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of boxers. He was dressed in a pair of pants and a black shirt in no time. Molly had remained in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. He walked over to her. “What’s wrong?”

“My dress is out there and I have nothing to wear.” She said, embarrassed. Sherlock smiled and walked back to the dresser. He pulled out another pair of boxers and an undershirt of his. He handed them over. She just looked at him.

“It’s the best I can do.” He said, giving her that adorable lopsided grin of his. She pulled them on and Sherlock handed her his dressing gown. She slid it on too and tied the string around her waist, feeling ridiculously small as it was rather large on her. Sherlock was a tall man, over half a foot taller than her.

He offered her his arm as he stood near the door. “Shall we?” She sighed and slid her arm through his.

“I suppose.” She said. He opened the door and they went out to meet Lestrade.


	16. Mycroft, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson Have A Heart-To-Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade gets angry. Molly has a heart-to-heart with two unlikely people. 
> 
> (read Chapter 2 of 'A Goldfish of His Own' to find out what Lestrade and Sherlock talked about)

Molly and Sherlock walked out to find Lestrade seated in Sherlock’s chair; Mycroft stood behind him. Molly dragged her feet walking out, it felt like she was going to her death. She knew that Lestrade was absolutely pissed at her. She pulled at the string of Sherlock’s dressing gown, making sure it was tight. She could feel Sherlock’s bicep tense under her hand as they neared the two men. He motioned for her to sit and she was relieved; her legs were shaking and she didn’t know if she could stand any longer. The look on Lestrade’s face was that of vehement fury. 

Sherlock tried to lighten the tension that one could have cut with a knife, had they only possessed the utensil in that moment. He said, “So I’m guessing the date didn’t go well?”

Mycroft replied, “On the contrary, brother mine. I thought it went quite well.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows shot into his curly locks. “Then why are you here? Should you not be engaging in similar acts to what Molly and I were just partaking in then?”

Molly blushed furiously. Why did he have to do this? He always had to egg Mycroft on and piss him off. But it didn’t seem to work this time as the elder Holmes brother replied, “Not everyone fucks on the first date, Sherlock.” His face was blank as he stared at his younger brother. Molly choked out a giggle, having never heard Mycroft use such a vulgar expression. He was always so proper and she was seeing a whole new side of him. 

“Did you are least get a kiss out of it?” Sherlock asked.

“I might have, had you returned Molly at a reasonable hour like you were supposed to.”

“ENOUGH!” Lestrade yelled, sick of their banter. The trio looked at him. “Now, Molly, what the hell are you thinking?” 

“Greg…” Sherlock began.

“SHUT UP, SHERLOCK!” Lestrade yelled, his eyes shooting venom at Sherlock and his words spouting abhorrence with each syllable. Sherlock’s body stilled and he placed his hands behind his back. Molly knew this as the act of surrender or deep concentration; she took it to mean the former in this instance. Lestrade’s glare dropped and he looked at Molly with nothing but care in his eyes. “Molly, what are you doing?”

“What are you doing, Greg?” She replied, quietly.

He was silent for a moment, apparently he hadn’t be prepared for a followup question. “Molly, you can’t forgive him. Do you remember what he did to you?” 

“Yes, Greg, I do. Why do you care so much though? It didn’t happen to you!” She replied, getting flustered. Her cheeks were reddening but not out of embarrassment. 

“But it did. You don’t think that these things affect your friends, but they do! I sure remember you coming to my apartment, crying just after the ambulance took him away. How do you think that made me feel? I was pissed. I wanted to kill him. He hurt you when he was supposed to be protecting you from someone supposedly more dangerous.” Molly glanced back and saw Sherlock’s fists clench behind his back. She wanted to hold his hands, to smooth out his knuckles and tell him that he was alright. But she knew that he wasn’t, she wasn’t either. Before she knew it, she was crying. The tears were freely rolling down her face. Lestrade said, “Oh, don’t cry, Molly.” 

Lestrade left his chair and walked toward her. He crouched down in front of her chair and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I needed to make sure that you were okay and that you’re not making any decisions for the wrong reasons or being forced into any decisions. You have no idea how worried I was when I found my apartment empty tonight. I thought…well, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Honestly, I think that he rushed us away solely because he didn’t want to have to give me a goodnight kiss.” Mycroft said, cheekily in hopes of lightening the mood.  
Molly laughed through her tears. “Hopefully you’ll still get one.”

“Not likely, I’m still very upset with him.” Lestrade said, glancing back at his date.

“May I speak with Lestrade alone?” Sherlock blurted out. The three of them looked at him. Lestrade nodded and Mycroft said, “Come, Molly, let us see if Mrs. Hudson is still awake.”

Mycroft and Molly stood, the man placed his hand on the small of Molly’s back and he guided her out of the room. Molly glanced back at Sherlock and Lestrade, wondering if both men would be unharmed the next time she saw them. 

Mrs. Hudson was awake and sitting at her kitchen table, her hands around a cup of tea. Molly had knocked on the door and was told to come in by the landlady. She said, “Sit down, both of you, I’ll fix you a cuppa.”

Mycroft and Molly sat opposite each other and watched as Mrs. Hudson made their tea and brought out some chocolate biscuits. She had already had a kettle on the stove to boil so it was a rather quick process. She set the cups in front of Molly and Mycroft and then placed the plate in the middle of the table. “Now,” she said, “what’s this all about?”

“Greg doesn’t approve of Ms. Hooper forgiving my dear brother.” Mycroft said before picking up his cup and taking a sip. He grabbed a biscuit and nibbled on it.  
Molly had already drank half of her tea and finished off a biscuit by the end of Mycroft’s sentence. She was nervous. Mrs. Hudson asked, “Worried about Sherlock, dear?”

“I think Greg is going to hurt him.”

“He’s a big boy, Molly, he can take care of himself.” Mrs. Hudson replied. She turned to Mycroft. “Why is Greg so upset?”

“He thinks this is an abusive relationship.” Mycroft said simply. 

“Oh dear…He’s only hit her the one time and he was high! People do worse when they’re high.” She replied, frowning. She picked up her tea and stared at the wall as she drank it, lost in thought.

“Yes, they do. And that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell him.” Mycroft replied. “But he won’t listen. He’s stubborn.”

“You’ve been awfully quiet, dear.” Mrs. Hudson said, placing her hand on Molly’s. 

“I’ve just been thinking. I understand where Greg’s coming from. But he doesn’t understand just how much I love Sherlock. I’ve loved him since the day I met him. Well, I say that, but I suppose I fell in love with how mysterious he was at first; all cheekbones and upturned collar. He was quiet, only asking me for samples and to see a body. We would work in silence and there was just something _there_. I don’t know how to explain it. He would be able to, he’s better with words.” Molly smiled. “We started talking after a few months. A few words here and there but he was kind and that was when I started to truly fall in love with him. It went on like that for years. And then he asked me to help him fake his death. Moriarty didn’t think that I was important enough to target with his assassins; you made the cut though, Mrs. Hudson.” The landlady smiled fondly at the table, not looking at Molly. “Sherlock was grateful. During his exile, he wrote to me. They were sweet letters, under the pseudonym Clive Hughes. 

“He was scared during his two years away and his letters showed a whole new side to him. From them, I could tell that there was something that he wasn’t telling me. There was something more to _us_. He wanted to say it then, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Then he returned and I had Tom. I regret that so much. He was just a filler. You see, Sherlock had stopped writing after eight months — I thought he was dead. You have no idea how devastated I was. Tom was a rebound and it stuck until John’s wedding. Sherlock’s return had caused a fault to run through my relationship with Tom and it split apart during John and Mary’s wedding. Seeing Sherlock look around on the dance floor, he seemed so lonely. He had no one. He looked at me but I was with Tom. That was the moment that I knew that I couldn’t be with him anymore. Sherlock needed me. I almost went after him that night, but I had to end things with my fiancé.

“And, you two know the rest. All of the drama, all of the heartache and heartbreak, all of the hurt; I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s brought me here, to Sherlock.”

Mrs. Hudson removed her hand from Molly’s to wipe a tear from her eye. “That’s lovely dear.”

Molly glanced up at Mycroft, whose jaw was twitching. He muttered, “Yes, well, that’s all quite… _erm_ , wonderful.” 

“This is exactly where I want to be and Greg needs to know that. Please tell him, Mycroft. He’ll listen to you.” Molly said, looking Mycroft in the eye.

“I will try my best, Ms. Hooper.” He said as he heard the front door slam shut. He sighed. “And there goes the Detective Inspector. I had better go after him before he tears London apart.”

Mycroft stood and said, “Thank you for the tea and biscuits, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome, dear.” She said, cheery. 

He walked over and planted a kiss on Molly’s forehead. “I’ll try to bring the Inspector around.”

“Thank you, Mycroft.”

He nodded and walked out of Mrs. Hudson’s flat. She looked at Molly and said, “I do hope those two work out.”

Molly smiled and said, “They’re a good match.” 

She stood and thanked Mrs. Hudson as well before returning to her own flat upstairs. Sherlock was seated in his chair with his eyes closed. She walked over and gasped when she saw his face. He opened his eyes upon hearing her and said, “I’m fine, Molly, don’t fret.”

“When I get my hands on Greg…” She said, anger boiling up inside of her. She placed a hand on his cheek and ran her thumb over his split lip. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes, but it was well deserved. Leave the Detective Inspector alone, Molly. He’s done nothing wrong.” Sherlock said quietly. 

“What did you boys talk about?” She asked. Sherlock stood and pulled her by the hand toward the bedroom. He said, “I’ll tell you in the morning. Now, it’s time for bed. Getting punched takes a lot out of me these days; perhaps I should heed Lestrade’s advice and start boxing again…”


	17. Molly Has a Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock looks into training Molly in self defense. Molly confesses a secret.

Sherlock couldn’t sleep that night, he lay staring at the wall with his back facing Molly. He was glad that she had forgiven him but he wondered if she should have taken more time for herself. Then, there was the nagging thought that he couldn’t protect her, not really. If Moriarty sent more than three men, surely he would be outmatched and Molly would be dead. He wouldn’t kill her instantly, no, Moriarty would torture her in front of Sherlock. Slow. She needed to be less helpless.   
He shot out of bed and ran to his computer. He brought it back and sat down on the mattress, looking out possible gyms nearby. It only took a matter of minutes for him. He loves hacking Mycroft’s government webpages. He looked over at Molly when he heard her sweet, slow breathing change to that of short pants. Her face was scrunched up, sweat had appeared on her brow, and she began to toss and turn on the bed. Sherlock set his computer down on the floor and slid over to her. He ran one hand soothingly through her hair and the other along her arm. After a few minutes, she calmed and he pulled her completely into his arms. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked up at him.   
“Sherlock?” She asked groggily.  
“You were having a nightmare, go back to bed.” He said, continuing to run his hand through her hair. Molly wiped the sweat from her forehead and snuggled into him. “Are you okay?”  
“I’m fine, now.” She said, simply. She pressed her cheek against his chest and held him tight.  
“What were you dreaming about?” He asked after a few minutes of silence. He felt a shiver pass through her as she said, “What do you think?”   
He frowned and held her tighter. “Moriarty?”   
She nodded into his chest. He replied, “It’s okay, I’ll protect you. But, you have to help me. Will you learn some self-defense? Boxing or something useful?”  
Again, she nodded into his chest. “Of course. I’m tired of being useless.”  
He pushed himself away from her so he could look at her face. “You’re not useless, Molly. Don’t tell yourself that, ever.”  
She had nothing to say to that, she just climbed on top of him and placed her hands on his chest. Her lips pressed against his; Sherlock’s hands gripped hers and he responded with enthusiasm but she ended the kiss after a minute or so. Sherlock let out a ‘humph’ in protest. Molly just looked down at him and said, “Moriarty hasn’t done anything since John was stabbed.”   
Sherlock nodded. “He must be plotting something big. I wish that he would show himself. He’s a big talker, it would help me figure out so much of his plan and he would certainly divulge how he faked his death too…”  
“Speaking of you faking your death…” Molly said, sneakily. Sherlock smiled and said, “Yes? What’s on your mind?”  
“Well,” she began. “You remember Clive Hughes?”  
“Fondly, yes.” Sherlock said, nodding.   
“Why did you stop writing? Eight months and then nothing.” She said, softly running a finger over his split lip.   
He placed his hand on hers and said, “I was in danger. I had to keep moving. The mission I was on required me to be constantly on the go, Molly. I wanted to write you, more than anything. You have no idea how much it hurt me to leave you in the dark. I know that you thought I was dead; that’s why Tom came into your life. I had more important things to do though.”  
“I understand that. But I couldn’t help but feel abandoned.” She said, quietly. “It made me start to think about all of the horrible things that you did to me.” Tears slowly began to form at the corners of her eyes. “I spent a lot of time thinking about thinking about all of the times that you rejected me and how it wouldn’t work between us when you did return, or if you even returned.”  
Sherlock studied her face; it wasn’t that hard to read Molly, she was practically an open book. He frowned and said, “You were with someone after I rejected you at Christmas in 2010, were you not?”   
Molly’s tears spilled over and she said, “I wanted to tell you, Sherlock, I really did. But, he wanted to keep it a secret.”  
“Who, Molly?”  
She didn't meet his eyes when she admitted, “It was Greg. He took me home after the Christmas party at John’s request. We were both distraught and we started drinking — it just sort of happened…”  
Sherlock raised his hand and said, “You don’t have to explain, Molly. I understand.” He sighed and took her hand. “This explains why he is so protective of you. How long did this affair go on?”   
Molly couldn’t look at him. “It happened every once in a while if one of us was feeling down, until I met Tom. Greg wasn’t ready for a relationship; his divorce wasn’t even finalized. I needed something more, so we ended whatever it was that we had.”   
Molly still wasn’t looking at him so Sherlock took her face in his hands, forcing her eyes to meet his. He planted a kiss on her forehead and murmured, “I’m sorry.”  
“For what?” She whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck.  
“Everything. Everything I put you through. Everything that you were forced into on account of me and my actions.” He looked at her. “I’m trying to make everything better for you and for us. But, please, we have to put the past behind us, okay?”   
She nodded and wiped the tears away hastily. He kissed her forehead and said, “Good. Now let’s go to bed. We need to move you back in tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read my new Fic “Distraught on Christmas” if you’re interested in how Molly and Greg’s affair went.


	18. The Fifth Suitcase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be read as a companion to Chapter 3 of A Goldfish of His Own.

Sherlock sat in his chair, fingers steepled together in utter concentration. There was a commotion on the stairs but he wasn't paying attention to that. He was staring at the creature that had taken up residence in John's old chair. It stared at him and he stared back. Molly walked into the room, carrying a box of mugs, when she spotted them. She set them down in the kitchen then walked over and sat down on the armrest of Sherlock's chair.

He said, "I think your cat's a psychopath, Molly."

She looked at Toby, who was still staring at Sherlock. "All cats are psychopaths."

"He never blinks." Sherlock said, eyes watering from how long he had stared at the animal.

Molly ran her hand through his curls and said, "That's just what cats do."

Sherlock blinked and cursed to himself. "Bested again!"

"Again? How long have you been at this?"

"What time did you bring this beast here?" He asked, getting up and walking to the kitchen.

"Around noon."

"Then since noon." He said, looking into the box. "What are these?"

"Mugs. And you've stared at my cat for an hour when you should have been helping me unpack? I thought you were out." She asked, frowning at him.

"Why are you bringing mugs?" He asked, holding one up.

"Because my mum gave them to me. Now answer the question, Sherlock." She said as she began to unpack the box into the cupboard.

"Hmmm? What question?" He asked, leaning against the counter.

"Why aren't you helping?" She asked, shutting the cupboard and turning toward him, arms crossed.

"Should I be?" He asked, giving her a blank stare. He truly didn't know.

"It's customary for boyfriends to help their girlfriend move in, yes."

His eyes widened slightly but his stare didn't change. "I'm your...boyfriend?"

Molly rolled her eyes and walked toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Of course you are, you idiot."

His arms slowly snaked around her waist when he had regained his senses. "And being your...boyfriend...I am obligated to aid you in unpacking?"

"Yes, you tosser." Molly said, kissing him.

"Oi, we'll have none of that." A woman chastised. Molly broke away from Sherlock abruptly.

"Mrs. Hooper, I presume? You sounded different on the phone." Sherlock said, looking at the woman. She didn't resemble Molly much, which led him to assume that she looked more like her late father.

"Everyone sounds different on the phone, dear." She replied to Sherlock. To her daughter, she said, "That lovely bloke is taking up your last suitcase..."

"Lovely bloke?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrow shooting into his hair.

"Greg's helping." Molly said, looking at the floor.

"Of course he is. You two are  _just friends_  now, aren't you?" Sherlock asked, his voice turning icy.

Before Molly could answer, her mom said, "Oh no, not Greg; I don't know where he's gotten off to. This one has dark brown hair, probably medium height. Said he was a friend of yours and wanted to help. "

Sherlock sprinted out of the room; Molly took another second before it clicked with her too. She ran after him. Mrs. Hooper yelled, "Should I not have let him help?"

Molly and Sherlock ran into Molly's room upstairs and found several suitcases laying about but one in particular stood in the center of the room, nothing near it. They looked at each other then Sherlock approached it. Molly reached for his arm to stop him but he pulled it away. He circled the suitcase twice then nudged it with his foot. Molly had expected it to explode immediately but nothing happened. Sherlock crouched down and looked at the combination. Four numbers.

"Four numbers." He muttered.

"What?" She asked, walking closer. She placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned down to look at the case.

"A four number combination. What do you think it could be?" He asked, already trying some numbers. He failed each time.

Molly's brows furrowed as she crouched down next to Sherlock just as her mother pounded up the stairs. "What's all of this about?"

"The man you met was Jim Moriarty. I'm sure you saw his face on telly or in the papers. Yet you didn't recognize him. Why is that, Mrs. Hooper?" Sherlock asked, rounding on her.

"Are you really suspecting my mum of having anything to do with this?" Molly asked, smacking his arm.

His face went blank - Molly was starting to realize that that was what he did when he realized that he had been mistaken. He said, "Of course not. My apologies, Mrs. Hooper."

"It's quite alright, dear." Mrs. Hooper said, patting Sherlock's shoulder affectionately. She watched her daughter as she tried several numbers until one finally made the case click, telling them that it was unlocked. Molly jaw nearly dropped in surprise. Her mother asked, "What is it, Molly?""

"I tried that one as a joke." She replied, looking at her mother.

"What was it, what were the numbers? It's very important, Molly!" Sherlock said, placing a hand on hers.

"0508."

"0508? What's the significance of 0508?" He asked, squeezing his eyes shut to gain access to his mind palace.

Mrs. Hooper's voice snapped him out of it though. "It's the day you met. Monday, May 8th, 2006."

"How on earth do you know that?" Sherlock asked.

"Molly called me that day. She was so excited. She said that a cute bloke came in working with the police; some consulting detective. He was gorgeous, the strong and silent type..." Mrs. Hooper blurted out.

"That's enough, Mum!" Molly said, blushing fiercely.

Sherlock was smirking with a bemused expression on his face. He chose not to comment on Molly calling her mum those many years ago; instead, he said, "But how did Moriarty know?"

This only caused her more embarrassment. She mumbled, "My diary." Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "It went missing a few months ago."

"And you didn't think to tell me that!" He shook her shoulders only to be hit by Mrs. Hooper.

"Don't you lay a hand on her, Sherlock Holmes!" Mrs. Hooper yelled. There were footsteps on the stairs. Mrs. Hudson walked through the door and said, "Oh my, what the devil are you doing up here? You're making quite the racket!"

"My apologies, Martha." Mrs. Hooper said, looking at the other woman. The two started talking.

Sherlock said quietly to Molly, "I'm sorry. But you really should have told me."

"I'm sorry." She said as she undid the latches on the suitcase and let it fall open. Inside was an envelope. Sherlock picked it up and opened it. He pulled out a letter and a bag. Molly grabbed the bag frantically and looked at the hair inside, there were six samples. Short, curly, and red; short, curly, and brown; short, straight, and jet black; long, straight, and brown; long, very curly, and black; and short, straight, and salt and pepper gray. "Greg."

"Yes, Moriarty has Lestrade and several others." Sherlock said, handing her the letter. She took it with a shaking hand.

_Dearest Molly,_

_My, oh my, you've been quite the busy little bee. Sleeping with so many of your friends: Mark, Nicholas, Greg, Tom, and Sherlock. Who's next? I do hope I'm being considered; you were a very good fuck, not something that I had expected given your frumpy appearance on the outside. I am very sad that you've moved on since me; I thought we had something special, darling. In light of your betrayal, I shall be taking your lovers, except for Sherlock, of course. I'll be taking his too, no matter how fake they were. You should never have moved on, Molly dear. Think hard on the site - this is all about you and Sherlock. Do hurry, they don't have long._

_Love, Jim_

Molly wanted to cry and puke at the same time. Sherlock, however, was examining the longer hair - the samples from his lovers. He glanced at the long, brown hair and muttered, "Janine." Next, he glanced at the curly, black hair and said, "Sally."

Molly raised an eyebrow at him, forgetting the severity of the situation. "As in Donovan? You slept with Sally Donovan."

"Yes. Is that a problem? It was before we were involved." He said, simply, as he bagged up the hair from his two lovers. He handed it to her.

"Well, by that logic, you can't be mad about Greg." She said, smirking at him.

"Priorities, Molly. There are six lives at stake here." Sherlock said, frowning.

"Yes, of course. Um, black is Mark, red is Nicholas, gray is Greg, and brown is Tom." Molly said, giving Sherlock back the bag, unable to look at it anymore.

Mrs. Hooper asked, "Is this your  _ex-fiancé_  Tom?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hooper." Sherlock said, pulling out his phone. He found a contact, called the number, and put it to his ear.

"It's okay, dear." Mrs. Hudson said, wrapping the other woman into a hug. Mrs. Hooper started crying and hugged Mrs. Hudson extremely hard.

"Detective Inspector Dimmock!" Sherlock said, relieved that he had answered. "Listen, Lestrade and Donovan have been kidnapped by Moriarty...Yes, that Moriarty. Now listen to me, he's taken six people in total. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan. Janine Hawkins. Tom...Um, Molly?"

Molly took the phone from Sherlock and said, "Detective Inspector?...Hi, yes this is Molly Hooper. The other people are Thomas Acker, Mark Holtby, and Nicholas Suggett." She listened to him talk over the procedure for dealing with this. She cut him off and shouted, "With all due respect, Detective Inspector, fuck procedure! You will get over here now and you will help us find these people!" She listened again and said, "Yes, I might know where they are. Maybe when you get here, we will have figured it out. Hurry!"

 


	19. Trigger Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be read as a companion with Chapter 4 of A Goldfish of His Own.

Molly and Sherlock sat in Sherlock's flat, sipping from tea that Mrs. Hudson had made them. She had taken Mrs. Hooper down into her flat; Eleanor was inconsolable - she had grown attached to Tom during his engagement to her daughter. Mrs. Hudson made her a strong cup of tea with some "herbal soothers" in it, although Mrs. Hooper didn't know that.

Molly and Sherlock sat in silence, both deep in thought. Sherlock has entered his mind palace and was retracing his day in much more detail than Molly was able to. She could barely remember what she did a month ago, let alone eight years ago. She sighed and muttered, "This is impossible, it was just an ordinary day!"

Sherlock snapped out of his deep thought and looked at her. "Let's eliminate places where he wouldn't keep them."

"Certainly not Bart's, too many people." Molly said.

"The same logic can be applied to the Yard. It would be suicide, even for Moriarty." Sherlock said, nodding. "That place I was crashing at the time is too small to hold that many people."

"My flat then was tiny as well." Molly said, in agreement.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a second; they flew open a second later and he nearly shouted, "The crime scene!"

"What?"

"The crime scene! It's the only thing that is big enough and that was completely different from a normal day!" Sherlock said, clapping his hands together. Molly launched herself at him and kissed him hard on the lips. She murmured, "You're brilliant."

"Well that's quite the understatement." Sherlock smirked.

Molly rolled her eyes at him and was about to retort when there was a pounding on the stairs and DI Dimmock entered the room. He stopped at their embrace and said, "Well, it's nice to see that even in light of your ex-lovers being kidnapped that you don't lose your own love for each other."

"Oh shut it." Molly said, hopping off of Sherlock. She looked down at him and asked, "Do you remember where the crime scene was?"

"An abandoned factory in Greenwich." Sherlock replied, standing up and advancing on Dimmock, who seemed uncomfortable with Sherlock's sudden proximity. "What are you waiting for? Let's go."

Dimmock seemed uneasy with the whole situation. He said, "I'm breaking protocol. We need backup but if I call for backup, they're going to take over and treat this like a normal kidnapping."

"No. They will treat it differently because it's high profile and the kidnapper is James Moriarty." Sherlock said. "Now, let's all get into that police car of yours and get to Greenwich as fast as possible."

Conflict played inside of Dimmock's head; what he was doing was very wrong and he should at least call for backup. But, that might put the captives in danger. He finally sighed and said, "Let's go."

They rode silently for most of the way to Greenwich. But something was nagging on Sherlock’s mind. He asked, “What ever happened to Barrie?”

“Who?” Dimmock asked, glancing over at Sherlock in the passenger’s seat. 

“The man who attacked John weeks ago.” Sherlock said; he was astonished that Dimmock couldn’t just recall who Barrie was. Then he remembered that he hadn’t even been there – it was Lestrade and Donovan. 

“Oh yes, um, Lestrade questioned him but he wasn’t talking. He’s awaiting trial for attempted murder. You two, John, and Mary will be witnesses.” Dimmock replied, swerving in and out of traffic as fast as he could. 

The car screeched to a halt outside of the abandoned factory in Greenwich. Sherlock was the first out of the car and he ran into the building before Molly and DI Dimmock were even out of the car. Dimmock had his hand on his sidearm as he ran after Sherlock. Molly followed as fast as possible. She nearly ran into Dimmock upon entering the building as he was stopped right inside of the door. 

“What are you doing?” She whispered.

He said, “I’ve lost Sherlock.”

Molly advanced into the factory, looking around for a moment but Dimmock grabbed her hand and pulled her back. He asked, “Don’t do that! You don’t have a gun. Stay behind me!” 

Molly sighed and followed Dimmock as he advanced through the factory. They didn’t find Sherlock first; they found the hostages on the main floor. They were all tied to their chairs: their ankles were tied to the legs of the chairs, their wrists were secured behind, they had blindfolds over their eyes, and gags in their mouths, taped in place. Molly ran at them; she went to Lestrade first. 

She lifted his blindfold and he blinked in the dim factory light. She pulled the tape off slowly then removed the gag from his mouth and the first thing he said was, “I’d rather you have pulled it off quickly.” 

She smiled halfheartedly. After a moment, she said, “Next time you get kidnapped and I have the occasion to remove tape from your mouth, I’ll rip it off as quick as I can.” 

“Thank you. And I’m glad to see you.” He said, smiling. Molly beamed at him. She snapped out of it and untied his feet and hands. He stood up and pulled her into the tightest hug she’d ever received. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. His head relaxed and rested on top of Molly’s. Dimmock looked at them for a second, eyebrow raised, and then went about untying the other hostages. 

“Molly?” 

Lestrade released Molly quickly and she looked at the one who had spoken. 

“Tom.” She ran over to him and was about to hug him but he shied away. “What’s wrong?” 

“I thought you were going with Sherlock now? What’s going on with you and Greg?” Tom asked, frowning. He seemed genuinely upset. 

“Time and place, Tom.” Sherlock said, striding over with a pace that only Sherlock was ever able to obtain and still look flawless doing it.

“Where have you been?” Molly asked, turning to him. 

“Looking around.” He replied, simply. 

“And what did you find?” Lestrade asked, rubbing his wrists where they had been tied up. 

“You won’t like it.” Sherlock replied.

“Why?” Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh Gregory, you know exactly why.” A deep voice said from the balcony above. They all turned and looked up. James Moriarty and another man stood on the balcony, looking down at them all; the other man had a rifle slung over his shoulder. “He found _us_.” 

“Oh.” Lestrade mumbled, instinctively stepping closer to Molly. 

“Awe, isn’t that cute. Sherlock, do you see what’s happening? The dear Detective Inspector is about to steal your girlfriend from you right before your eyes.” 

“That’s not happening nor is it of import right now.” Sherlock said, hastily. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Isn’t that obvious, I’m taking everything that you and Ms. Hooper hold dear and I plan to destroy them.” Moriarty replied. He and his companion descended the staircase to the main floor. 

“And how do you plan to do that?” Sherlock asked.

“With the help of my assistant, Sebastian Moran. While I have the brains, he has – as people would say – the brawn.” Moriarty said, looking fondly as his companion next to him. The man was tall, lean, well muscled, and handsome. He could definitely charm his way into doing anything - like robbing a bank or easily kidnapping people. 

“So you’re Sebastian Moran.” Sherlock said, crossing his arms behind his back. He began to pace in front of Moriarty and Moran, who both watched him as he went. The rest of the people in the room stood silently, too afraid to do anything. Molly grabbed onto Lestrade’s arm as she watched Sherlock pace in front of the mad men with the gun. Sherlock continued, “I’ve heard a lot about you. When I was dismantling dear Jimmy’s network all across Eastern Europe, I ran into several operatives who had worked with you in the past.”

“Oh? And what did they have to say?” Moran asked, not caring in the slightest. He had his hand on his gun, running his finger over the trigger. He was looking down at his gun with a fondness that people usually reserved for others that they loved. 

“Well they didn’t have very much time to talk.” Sherlock said, waving a hand at the several lives that he took in his two years abroad. 

Moran nodded and said in a bored voice, “I don’t see you taking a life. You haven’t the stomach for it.”

“You’d be surprised at what I could do.” Sherlock said, stopping in his tracks and narrowing his eyes at Sebastian Moran. 

“Oh? I would? I highly doubt that, Sherlock Holmes.” Moran said, scoffing. “You’re not as intelligent nor as fantastic as you think you are.” 

“And what do you mean by that?” Sherlock asked, turning slightly on his heel. 

“Act fast, Mr. Holmes.” Moran said, raising his rifle in an instant, putting it to his shoulder, looking through the sight, and ringing off a shot in less than five seconds. The only person who was able to react was the only one who had been watching him the whole time: Greg Lestrade. 

He shoved Molly to the ground, out of the path of the bullet, putting himself directly in the line of fire. The bullet pierced his body and he let out a howl of pain; Moran and Moriarty just laughed. Molly watched from the ground as Lestrade’s body collapsed backward. She scrambled over to him and placed her hands over the hole in his abdomen, attempting to stop him from bleeding out.  

“Greg, you stay with me!” Molly said, applying more pressure to his wound. She looked at him and could tell that he was terrified by the look that he gave her.His eyes closed but he was still breathing, she knew that he had lost consciousness. Through her tears, she said, “Don’t you dare die on me, Greg. We’re not done yet.”

 


	20. The Rescue

Molly kept the pressure on the wound on Lestrade’s abdomen. The others had begun to move towards him but Moriarty shouted, “No one move! If you do, you’ll end up like poor Lestrade right there. Molly, that is a lost cause. Although, it is you who should be lying there.” 

“Why Molly?” Sherlock asked, peering down at Lestrade.

Moran shrugged. “I wanted to see if you would offer your life for hers. But you couldn’t even react fast enough. It would seem a middle-aged detective could though. For shame, Sherlock.”

“You killed Lestrade!” Sherlock yelled.

“I’ve killed many people.” Moran snapped. “Who cares if I add ≈Ωç? I should say that I’ll be adding several more to my list before the hour’s up.”

“You haven’t killed Greg yet.” Molly said, glaring up at Moran while keeping pressure on Lestrade’s wound. He was breathing shallowly now; he didn’t have long but he was still alive. 

“Balance of probability. He’ll die soon; just like all of you.” Moran responded with a roll of his eyes. 

“He didn’t deserve this; none of these people do! They’re good people, unlike you two, unlike me.” Sherlock said, pacing back and forth. Apparently Moriarty’s “don’t move” statement didn’t apply to Sherlock. Instead of going to Lestrade like he should have, he just continued pacing. 

“No one in this world is good.” Moriarty said, laughing maniacally. He stopped abruptly. “If you knew what these horrid people have done, you wouldn’t think them wonderful.”

“No?” Sherlock said, cocking an eyebrow at his foe. 

“Certainly not.” Moriarty said. “Your Molly, for example. If only you knew how many men she slept with in college, you may not put her on the highest of pedestals. Sadly, I couldn’t track them all down; although, this room would be quite full if I had. Didn’t you ever wonder why she was so insecure and timid? Even you should have deduced that, Sherlock.”

Molly cast her eyes down, feeling several gazes settle on her. She focused on Lestrade’s face, trying to hide the new set of tears. She could feel Sherlock’s stare more than the others. He was judging her, she knew it. He didn’t know her story though; she would tell him if he asked. She would tell him if they lived to see the night. When she felt his gaze lift off of her, she looked up. Everyone else had averted their eyes and Sherlock was looking again at Moriarty. 

Sherlock said, “That doesn’t matter anymore. Why would you think I would care about that?” 

“Well, Sherlock, your Molly has gotten around, as the young kids say. You have that right to know. She never told you, correct?”

“Well, no. But…”

“But nothing, Sherlock. She’s been lying to you. Isn’t that what you need in a relationship? Trust?” Moriarty said, glaring at Molly. He didn’t get to say anymore. The door burst open and at least ten men ran in with rifles pointed everywhere. Several went to the hostages just as shot fired. Moran had raised his rifle to his shoulder and was firing as he retreated with Moriarty. Sherlock went in pursuit of them. DI Dimmock yelled, “Sherlock, don’t!” 

DI Gregson yelled back at his partner, “I’ll get him! You get everyone else out.”

Molly looked around and saw another person on the ground, blood pooling from them; Moran had hit a target. Curly, brown hair. _No._ Molly watched as Donovan crouched down and pressed her hands firmly against the wound. She looked over at Molly, a frown set deep on her face. 

The next thing they all knew, sirens sounded and paramedics rushed in. Two went for Lestrade and the other two went for Tom. One asked, “How long has he been passed out?” 

“Maybe five minutes.” Molly said, watching as one of the paramedics examined Lestrade. 

“We have to get him into surgery, now.” The other paramedic said. They got Lestrade onto a stretcher and Molly held his hand as he was transported to the hospital in the ambulance. She had no idea where Sherlock was; he had run off after Moriarty into more danger. 

They were at the hospital in no time and Lestrade was rushed off to surgery, torn away from Molly. She would still feel his hand in hers. She sat down in the waiting room and stared at her bloody hands. She looked up again when she heard sirens. Another stretcher was brought in and she recognized Tom. She stood up and watched him be rushed by. 

“Molly!” She turned and saw Sally Donovan rushing toward her, blood drenching the front of her shirt. Sally pulled Molly into a hug and they didn’t let go for several minutes. When they finally did release each other, Molly asked, “Will Tom be okay?”

“I’m not sure.” Sally said, frowning. She took Molly’s hand and led her back over to the seating area. They sat down together on a couch and waited. Before long, DIs Dimmock and Gregson walked through the door with Sherlock on their heels. Behind them, the other hostages came in. Nurses rushed to them, claiming that they all needed medical attention. Sherlock waved them off when they advanced on him and for some reason, they allowed that. He walked straight to Molly and took her in his arms. 

“Are you alright?” He asked before kissing her on the forehead. She nodded into his chest, holding him tight. She was crying and he sat them down, holding her against him. Donovan had left them to go chat with Dimmock and Gregson. 

“So how did Gregson know to rescue us?” Molly asked.

“Dimmock had texted him as we entered the factory. He knew that we would need backup. There would have been ambulances had he known how bad it would get.” Sherlock said, frowning. “I just hope that they came in time. How did Greg look when he was taken into surgery?”

“Not good.” She said, quietly. “I’m not sure if he’ll make it.”

She stifled a sob and Sherlock frowned; he squeezed her hand. “May I be blunt with you?”

“If this really the right time for this, Sherlock?” Molly asked. 

“Probably not.” He said, shaking his head. 

She sighed and said, “Go ahead anyway.”

“Do you still have feelings for Lestrade?” 

_What?_ Molly wasn’t sure that she had heard him correctly. That wasn’t the question she thought he was going to ask. When she realized that she had in fact heard him right, she had to think about it. _Do I?_ Sure, she valued his friendship above all others; she would consider him her best friend. But did she have feelings that were greater than just that of friendship?

She frowned and said, “It’s possible. We practically dated for almost a year. It’s complicated; I don't know, Sherlock.” She pushed herself away from him and looked at him suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s not that hard to deduce, Molly.” He said, quietly. “I wanted to hear it from you though. It would appear that you don’t even know it. It’s obvious Molly. He feels the same way too.”

“Sherlock, there's no way that you could know that.” Her voice broke when she spoke as she wiped the tears from her face. 

“After everything that you know about me, you really think that I couldn’t figure this out? It’s simple, Molly. Everyone can see it.” Sherlock said, taking her hand again. “It’s okay though. If you do feel this way, I won’t stop you from pursuing it. If this is what you want, I will step aside and let you two be together. It’s your choice. I want you to be happy, even if that means that I am alone for the rest of my life.”

“Why would you be alone, Sherlock?” 

Sherlock took her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. “You are the only woman I’ve ever loved and you are the only person I will ever love. You are the one for me, Molly Hooper. I am a cruel man, I rub people the wrong way; when I meet someone new, they don’t like me. You have endured me for years and years, you have put up with me and somehow have fallen in love with me. I don’t understand how but you have overcome all odds and claimed my heart. Now that you have it, it’s yours forever.

“So, the choice is yours, Molly. If you choose Lestrade, I will be happy for you. If you choose me, I will be ecstatic. I love you, Molly Hooper.” Sherlock said, placing a chaste kiss on her lips before rising and walking away, leaving her stunned. 

 


	21. Will She or Won't She?

Molly was seated in the Watsons’ sitting room; she couldn’t go back to Sherlock’s, it just didn’t feel right. He wasn’t there anyway, but she didn’t feel right, not with what had just happened. Sherlock had said some very sweet things but being around Greg so much lately had made her feelings for him rise to the surface again. She just didn’t know what to do. 

“Molly?” Mary asked, waving a hand at her friend.

“Hmm? Sorry, I was thinking.” Molly replied, sighing. 

Mary placed a hand on hers and said, “It must be hard. I know that you have feelings for Greg but you don’t love him, do you? If you don’t, the choice should be obvious.”

Molly frowned. “I don’t love Greg. But I could, that’s the problem. The thing is that he has never hurt me. He’s never treated me poorly; I don’t think he’s even said a bad thing about me. He’s always held me in the highest regards with work and he has always been fond of me.” She took a deep breath. “And then you have Sherlock who’s hurt me numerous times, both emotionally and physically. Who shouts insults at me and has made me feel like the worst human being on the planet. But…he can be sweet. He helped me out in my time of need and I do love him. But…Greg also helped me out in my time of need; he took me in without question after Sherlock hit me.”

Mary sat there, stony-faced. “I’m not the person you should be talking this through with.”

“Who else am I supposed to talk about this with?” Molly asked, defeated.

“Greg.”

* * *

It was several days before Molly could get in to see Greg. He had been out for over a day then he was recovering. There always seemed to be someone else with him: his son, other detectives, Mycroft, Sherlock. The last was a surprise but he seemed genuinely concerned with Lestrade’s recovery; Molly was just surprised that Sherlock hadn’t snuffed him out with a pillow yet. Molly walked into Greg’s room and shut the door behind her. 

He was laying in bed, his eyes shut. She wondered if he was actually sleeping. She pulled a chair up to the side of his bed and when she sat down, his eyes opened slowly. Groggily, he said, “Molly?”

Molly took his hand and said, “How are you feeling Greg?”

He smiled and said, “I’m getting better.” He ran his thumb over the back of her hand and looked down at their joined hands. “How are you?”

“Fine.” She replied, frowning. “Actually, no, I’m not fine.”  
Greg sat up as much as he could and scooted over to one side of the bed. “Come here.”

Molly stood and crawled onto the bed, sitting cross-legged, facing him. He took her hand again and waited for her to talk. She finally said, looking up at him with tears in her eyes, “Sherlock told me to make a choice.”

Greg’s eyebrow creeped toward his hairline. “A choice about what?”

“About who I want to be with.” She replied, unable to look at him. He placed a hand under her chin and forced her eyes to meet his. 

“And who do you want to be with?” He asked, his eyes searching hers for answers before her mouth could say a thing. 

Molly shrugged; the corner of her mouth twitched. “I…I’m not sure.” Molly turned in the bed and curled against Greg’s side. He wrapped his arm around her and she nuzzled against his chest. “You’re my best friend, Greg. I just don’t know what to do.”

He nodded to himself, thinking everything over. “You know, Molly, we’ve tried to make this work before. It isn’t going to happen; I wish it would work out for the two of us, but we’re not meant to be.”

She frowned and pushed herself off of him, feeling bad when he winced at her applying pressure to his bullet wound.“Why can’t it work?” 

Greg cupped her cheek and said, “Because we don’t belong together.” He leaned up and kissed her cheek. “We’ve had some great times. Do you remember that time after John’s wedding?” She smiled guiltily. 

“Yes, I had just broken up with Tom. You were more than happy to make me forget about that mistake of a relationship.” She bit her lip as she remembered that night at the hotel. She blushed and shook the thoughts from her head.

Greg continued, “But that’s all in the past. After Sherlock hit you, we said that would be the last time.” He squeezed her hand as his face saddened drastically. “But, you love Sherlock and I have feelings for Mycroft.” 

Molly nodded and leaned toward him, she pressed her lips to his and mumbled against them, “One last kiss, okay?” He nodded and wrapped his arms around her. It was a lengthy kiss and when they broke apart, Molly wanted more but she knew that it wasn’t possible. She sat back and said, “I’m going to miss that.” 

He smiled sadly and said, “I know. But it’s you and Sherlock now, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She said, smiling. She pulled out her phone and called Sherlock. 

“Molly!” He said, pain evident in his voice. 

“Can I come home, Sherlock?” There was a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. 

 


	22. Coming Home

Sherlock sat in his chair, ears straining for any sort of noise that wasn’t Mrs. Hudson watching telly downstairs. When he heard the lock click, he turned his head to the door. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. His hands gripped the armrest hard, he hadn’t thought of what he would do when she finally came home. His whole mind went blank when he saw her standing in the doorway.

Neither of them said a thing at first. Sherlock looked at her with a peculiar expression on his face; Molly had never seen it before, it was a little scary actually. To break the silence and get him to change that expression, she said a simple, “Hi.”

He blinked twice then slowly eased his grip on the armrests. His jaw clenched repeatedly and he remained quiet. It took Molly a few moments to realize that he was trying not to cry. She rushed over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Sherlock’s hands released the armrest and gripped her hips as he buried his face in her shoulder. 

In his baritone, he said quietly, “I didn’t think you would actually come. I thought you would decide to chose Greg even after calling me.”

Molly was sure that she hadn’t heard him correctly; why would he have thought that? “But I’ve chosen you, Sherlock. Why do you think I would have chosen Greg?”

“He’s the logical choice, Molly.” Sherlock said into her neck, kissing her skin. “He’s never harmed you; he’s never said a bad thing to you or about you; he’s not a drug addict; people generally like him; he’s…”

Molly silenced him with a quick kiss. She said, “But he’s not you. I don’t love him in the same way I love you. He’s a friend, that’s it.”

“Now he is.” He said, smugly.

“Oh stop it, you don’t see me moping about your relationship with DS Donovan.” Molly said, releasing him and hitting his shoulder. 

“Fair enough.” He grew quiet after that, stroking her hips with his thumbs. She placed her hands on top of his and he looked up at her. 

“You seem sad.” She commented, stroking her thumbs over his hands. 

“I’m quite the opposite, Molly.” He said, smiling at her. He pulled her against him and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Against it, he whispered, “I’m ecstatic that you’re home.” After a pause, he continued, “What would you like to do tonight?”

 Molly thought it over for a moment. “Fish, chips, and telly.”

“I’ll call Declan and have him send some over from the restaurant.”

* * *

Forty minutes later, Molly and Sherlock were sitting with their backs against Molly’s headboard, eating fish and chips, watching one of Molly’s favorite romantic movies on the telly. Sherlock was holding his tongue, he wanted to point out how clichéd it was that the sometime lovers were from different social classes and that life kept getting in the way and things didn’t really work out romantically for them for a while until they got together and had troubles having children until one died an untimely death but he didn’t because Molly loved the movie and he loved Molly. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen _One Day_.” Molly said, turning the telly off with the remote.

“Well, I’m not a simpleton, now am I?” He asked, regretting it the second he said it. He kept forgetting that he should filter what he said. He had a girlfriend, he should care about her feelings. He wasn’t a robot, like John said. “Not that you’re a simpleton.”

“I didn’t think so.” She said, looking at him sharply. “You would have gotten no sex tonight had you left that last comment absent.”

Sherlock rose off of the bed and walked towards the door.

“Did I hurt the great Sherlock Holmes’ feelings?” Molly asked, smirking.

“No. I’m going to bed.”

“We can’t sleep up here? We always have to sleep down in your room?”

“Isn’t that _our room_?” They both just looked at each other for a second.

“S-should it be?” Molly asked. 

Sherlock pondered it for a moment, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. “Well, certainly when you first moved in here, this room was _your_ room. We had only spent one night together at that point and weren’t sure at all if anything would become of us. But now, we’re in love, Molly, and I can’t stand sleeping without you or being without you. There is absolutely no point in us having separate bedrooms at this stage in our relationship.” He gave her that stupid smile that she loved so much. “So, shall we move your things down in the morning and take that oh-so-special step in a relationship called ‘moving in together?’”

“I’d love that.” She said, smiling. “But we’re sleeping up here tonight. Get over here, you idiot.”

* * *

The next morning, Molly was up before Sherlock, a rare occurrence. She left him in bed, snoring faintly, and walked down the stairs to the kitchen where she began to make breakfast for the two of them. Molly opened the refrigerator to grab a carton of eggs and slammed it shut immediately. She just shook her head, not surprised anymore. If she were anything other than a pathologist, she would have vomited. She opened it again and looked at the hand; at least he had put it in a bag. “Sherlock!” She called. She heard him run down the stairs. He came swiftly through the door in nothing but his pants and he just frowned and said, “Yeah, that…I was going to tell you but I didn’t want to kill the mood last night.” He looked at her in the most innocent way possible, she just couldn’t be mad at him. “That move you did was impeccable, by the way. I might have thrown out my back.”

“Awe, poor baby.” She said, moving toward him. She stopped herself. “Why’s there a hand in the fridge?”

“Experiment.” He said simply.

“No more of that. Save it for the lab. It’s not hygienic.” Molly reached into the fridge and grabbed the bag with the hand in it and handed it to Sherlock. “Get rid of it.”

“But I’m not going to the lab until later.” He said, pouting. 

“Find some place else to put it.” She said. She pulled the eggs out and a pan. She began to fry them up some eggs. Sherlock was pouting still. “What’s your experiment?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s ruined now. There’s no where else to put the hand.” He sighed.

Molly sighed. “Put it back in the fridge. But this is the last time any body part, bodily fluid, or anything that can be found in the lab or morgue is in our fridge or microwave or oven. Do you hear me, Sherlock Holmes?”

“I love you, Molly.” He said, rushing over to her. She stopped him from kissing her by placing her hands on his cheeks. 

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, I understand. Now can I kiss you?” She nodded. His lips pressed against hers softly. She parted hers and his tongue slipped into her mouth, she caressed it with hers. Her arms snaked around his neck and one of his hands cupped her cheek, getting leverage for his tongue as it went as deep into her mouth as it could. She moaned as his free hand cupped her breast. She slid her hands down his chest to the waistband of his pants when the smell of smoke reached her nose. She broke from Sherlock.

Something old on the pan was burning. Molly took care of it quickly and turned back to Sherlock embarrassed. He smiled at her; he placed his hands on her hips and said, “Why don’t I finish breakfast and you move your stuff down to our room?”

Molly nodded. She kissed him on the cheek and left the kitchen.

Sherlock had breakfast ready and Molly was almost finished with moving her clothes down into the closet in twenty minutes. They ate, chatting about their day ahead and about the possibility of Lestrade talking with Mycroft when he got out of hospital. After breakfast, they finished moving Molly’s things down into the room and dressed for work, Sherlock couldn’t possibly go to Bart’s in his pants, there would be a riot. They left 221B hand in hand (Sherlock holding an extra hand in a plastic bag).

 


	23. The Game Is On

His eyes strained as he stared down the tube of the microscope. The skin on the slide had lost his interest minutes ago and now he was just delaying lifting his gaze. Molly had left the room and he had nothing to occupy his time with. He would be even more bored if he didn’t waste his time staring at the uninteresting slide of human flesh. 

Sherlock sighed loudly and a voice behind him said, “Being a drama queen, are you?”

His head lifted slowly from the microscope.

“John,” his tone was that of pleasant surprise. “What brings you to Bart’s?”

John shifted uncomfortably and Sherlock grew immediately impatient. “For God’s sake, John, just tell me!”

“Lestrade wants to see us.” John didn’t look at Sherlock as he said this.

“What about?”

“He didn’t go into detail. We should get to the Yard…if you’re up to it.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I be up to it?” 

“The Molly ordeal.” John replied.

“I’m not a child, John. Nor is Lestrade. Molly made her decision, we’ve both dealt with it.”  

“We’ll see.” John said under his breath as Sherlock began to pack up his slides. 

* * *

“John, Sherlock. That was fast.” Lestrade’s feet were propped up on the surface of the desk and he was holding half of a bagel in his hand. 

“Sorry to interrupt your breakfast.” Sherlock said, glancing at his choice of food. Lestrade hastily ate the rest of his food as he kicked his feet off the desk and brushed the crumbs off of his suit. “Why are we here?”

He coughed, having eaten too fast. “Um, in simple terms, Moriarty.”

“Did you just realize that he was back?” Sherlock asked, lifting a bored eyebrow at him.

Lestrade shot him a glare. “Of course not, I was kidnapped by him, in case you’ve forgotten, you sod!”

“Oh shut it, I’ve been shot, John’s been stabbed; you’ve been the least damaged recently.” Sherlock scoffed. 

Lestrade gave him a dangerous look as he sat up in his chair. “You watch yourself, Sherlock Holmes.”

John pushed Sherlock aside as he was likely about to march around the desk and grab Lestrade by the collar. “Enough.”

Sherlock acted as if John hadn’t said anything. “Why are we dealing with you, shouldn’t this be a job for MI6? It seems so much bigger than a Scotland Yard case.”

“MI6 is for foreign intelligence, Sherlock. Surely you have that stored somewhere in that Mind Palace of yours.” John interjected. “This is more of MI5 territory.”

Sherlock’s voice was raised when he talked again, “MI6, MI5, whatever the intelligence agency, shouldn’t they be taking care of Moriarty? Why aren’t we dealing with them? Why aren’t we dealing with someone more qualified than a Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard?”

The door to Lestrade’s office opened and in walked Mycroft Holmes. “You’re louder than you realize, brother dear. The whole floor can hear you. And you are dealing with someone more qualified than Scotland Yard alone. You’re dealing with me, Sherlock.”

“Ah, Mycroft. I thought you hated leg work.”

“I do, but I knew that you wouldn’t work well with anyone from either MI5 or MI6 so I decided to act as liaison in this matter. They might shoot you, I’m less inclined to.”

“This ‘matter?’” John said, his fists clenching. “There are lives at stake, Mycroft! Moriarty is out there doing God knows what and you’re here acting like it isn’t a huge deal!”

“Calm yourself, John. We are taking this very seriously. Jim Moriarty poses a serious threat to national security.” Mycroft said, slowly. “Now, onto the matter at hand, Sebastian Moran was seen near Buckingham Palace hours ago, dressed as a tourist. They are likely planning an attack on the Queen’s home in the near future.”

“A+, Mycy.” Sherlock said, giving him a bored stare. Mycroft narrowed his eyes. “I did better detective work when I was barely walking. Moran wouldn’t be this obvious. No, he’s making it look like he’s after Buckingham Palace, but he’s after something much more.”

“Oh you do enjoy your dramatics, Sherlock.” Mycroft said with an eye roll. “If you’re so clever, what is it that he’s after, then?”

“Not what. Who.” Sherlock said, his eyes lighting up. He began to walk toward the door but John grabbed his arm. 

John asked, “Are you going to tell the rest of the class?”

“He’s going after someone that we’ve saved.” He was met with blank stares from the three other men. “Bainbridge!”

“Bainbridge?” Mycroft asked.

“Private Stephen Bainbridge, a royal guard.” John clarified.

“Ah. And what would Moriarty want with him? Why is he important?” 

“We were able to save him.” 

There was a commotion out in the hallway and DS Donovan peeked her head into the room. “Sebastian Moran sighted outside of the U.S. Embassy.”

“Why would he be outside of the Embassy?” Lestrade asked.

When they looked to Sherlock, his eyes were closed, his fingers on his temples. His eyes flashed open and he said, “ _Bruhl_. Rufus Bruhl. British Ambassador to the U.S. Do you remember his children? Kidnapped by Moriarty years ago.”

“What does he want with them?” Lestrade asked.

“To get our attention.” Mycroft replied simply. Lestrade pulled out his phone and called a few other officers, telling them to round up Private Stephen Bainbridge and the Bruhl family.

Donovan was back and said, “Moran’s heading to Piccadilly Circus.” 

John’s eyes grew wide as he turned to Sherlock. “The second victim, the man made to wear the bomb vest in Piccadilly Circus.”

“The Ian Monkford case.” Sherlock muttered, nodding. “What was his name?”

Lestrade sat down at his desk and began typing, Mycroft gripped the back of the chair and peered over his shoulder. “Landon Pike, writer for _The Sun_.”

“What’s the point of all this?” Mycroft asked, staring at the case file on the screen. 

“He wants to play a game.” Sherlock said, a mischievous smile stretching across his face.

John looked at him, rolling his eyes. “People’s lives could be in danger, Sherlock. Try to act human.”

“I can’t, John, the game is on!” Sherlock called over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.

 


	24. An Ungrateful Pike

The sirens of the police car distracted Sherlock as he rode in the car behind Lestrade’s. John sat next to him, watching London go by. The car came to a screeching halt outside of _The Sun_ ’s offices and Sherlock and John hopped out of the car, rushing after Lestrade and Mycroft into the building.

At the front desk, Lestrade said, “Landon Pike, we need to speak to him.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Pike is in a meeting.” The secretary said, not looking up from her computer screen. Lestrade pulled out his ID and slapped it on the counter. 

“Perhaps you should call him out of it.” Lestrade’s voice was calm but the secretary acted as if he had yelled at her. Her hand shot to the phone and she dialed a number. She kept her eyes on Lestrade and the group as she spoke quickly with whoever was on the other end of the line before hanging up.

“Mr. Pike will see you in his office. Next floor up.” She said. Sherlock walked toward the stairs, Lestrade gave the receptionist a hasty “thank you” before following Sherlock with Mycroft and John bringing up the rear. Sherlock took the stairs two at a time and was at Pike’s door in no time. He walked right in without preamble and said, “Landon Pike, you are in danger, come with us.”

Mr. Pike looked up from his computer and said, “Excuse me? I’m certainly not going to do anything of the sort, Mr. Holmes.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed at Sherlock as the elder Holmes, Lestrade, and John walked in. “Oh, you’re brought the rest of your band of misfits, have you?”

“Oi, you should have more respect for those who saved your life.” Lestrade said, eyes narrowing at Pike.

“That was years ago, mate. I’ve gotten over it.” 

“You were almost blown up!” Lestrade said in a huff. 

“ _Almost._ ” Pike said, staring blankly at Lestrade. 

Lestrade was about to retort but Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder and intervened. “Mr. Pike, your life is in danger. The same man who strapped the bomb to your chest…”

He was cut off by Pike. “Yes, I know. Jim Moriarty. He hasn’t exactly been hiding his plans. I’m a journalist, I’ve been watching him.”

“And he hasn’t noticed? He’s Jim Moriarty!” Lestrade said.

“He doesn’t care. I’m too insignificant to be on his radar.”

“You’re wrong about that. Sebastian Moran is in Piccadilly Circus as we speak.” Sherlock said.

Pike stared at him blankly. “And…?”

“That’s where you were set with the bomb.” John said, eyebrows knitting together.

“Have you been to Piccadilly Circus, Dr. Watson?” Pike asked, leaning forward against his desk.

“Of course…”

“Well then, he might be after you.” Pike just shook his head and went back to the work on his computer. 

Sherlock strode around the desk and shoved Pike’s chair away from the desk. He gripped the armrests, his face half a foot from Pike’s. “You will come with us whether you want to or not.”

“I have rights, Mr. Holmes.” He replied. He stood up and was chest to chest with Sherlock. 

Sherlock took a step back and put on his best ‘hurt’ face. “Lestrade, I do believe this man just hit me. Am I not an officer by association?” 

Lestrade smiled. “Why yes, you are.” Lestrade strode around the desk and grabbed a bewildered Pike by the upper arm. “Landon Pike, you’re under arrest for the assault of a police officer.”

“This won’t stand!” Pike huffed as Lestrade cuffed his wrists.

“It doesn’t have to. We just need you out of harm’s way, Mr. Pike.” Lestrade said. “You’re coming with us.”

Pike resigned himself to silence and allowed himself to be pulled out of the room by the Detective Inspector. 

“Ingenious, dear brother.” Mycroft said as he followed Lestrade.

“That was the idea, brother mine.” Sherlock replied. He and John followed Mycroft, Lestrade, and Pike out of the building, ignoring the stares from Pike’s coworkers. 

They arrived back at Scotland Yard and Lestrade had Pike escorted to a holding cell. They all gathered in Lestrade’s office and they were met by Donavan. She said, “We have the Bruhl kids, pulled them out of school. And their parents have been notified, they’re on their way.”

“Thank you, Sally.” Lestrade said, sitting behind his desk. “Tell me when they’re here.”

She nodded and shut the door behind her. Sherlock was pacing the room and Mycroft was on the phone with someone in the government, alerting them to everything that had transpired. 

“How’s Mary, John?” Lestrade asked, leaning back in his chair.

“She’s good. Ready to pop. Days maybe until the baby comes.” Despite the situation they were in, John was smiling when he spoke of his little family. Sherlock was glad that he had forgiven her for hiding her secrets. He kept pacing the room as Lestrade and John conversed about the baby. He was barely listening though.

Music suddenly filled the office — _Stayin’ Alive_. John’s sentence fell short as he looked at Sherlock. He said, “That’s Moriarty’s ringtone.”

“And mine for him evidently.” Sherlock muttered. He pulled his mobile out and sure enough, _Moriarty_ was written on the screen. He set the phone down on the desk and answered, putting it on speaker-phone. “Jim. I’d hate to disappoint, but we’ve saved everyone you were after.”

“Oh Sherlock, I thought you would have figured it out by now. It was all a distraction.” Moriarty said. There was a pause on the other end of the call and everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Mycroft had hung up on the high official he had been talking to.

A very female, very familiar voice came through the phone. “Sherlock…Sherlock, I’m sorry. I was on my way home and Moran…he put a gun to my back. He made me go with him. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Molly.” Sherlock said quietly, his voice strained. Moriarty had Molly, it was all over. He had won. “What do you want, Jim?”

“Oh Sherlock, it’s not that easy. Put John on the phone.” 

Sherlock looked at John, whose face suddenly turned pale white. He looked like a corpse. He inched closer to the mobile as he gathered his soldierly courage and said, “What is it, Moriarty?”

“John? John…” Her voice broke, John’s heart with it. Mary was sobbing through the phone. 

John’s jaw clenched and he shut his eyes briefly before he said, “If you hurt her, Moriarty, I swear I will make your crimes look like child’s play.”

“Oh, such a big threat coming from such a small man.” Moriarty said lazily. “Now, you have 48 hours to find us before something terrible happens to your loved ones. And John, do hurry, your wife seems ready to give birth. And I’m terrible at taking care of babies. Sebastian is much worse.”

The line went dead.

 


End file.
